


To Be Reborn

by Vikkikate89



Series: To Be [1]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vikkikate89/pseuds/Vikkikate89
Summary: She was sitting alone in a dark alley, smoking a cigarette. Her clothing was worn and her hair was a mess. She looked like it had been days since she'd at least had a decent shower. He asked her how she was getting home that night, but her reply was not what he expected. Before he knew it, he was being drawn into her story and soon realized he needed to be a part of it.





	1. On a Cold Night

The concert had ended in the only way he wished, with a roar from the crowd and a storm of bodies bursting at the seams with energy, unable to remain still. He gave his final bow, shouted out his thanks to them for attending, then left the stage as the remaining members played him out until the lights went low for the final time. When they would light up again, it would be on an empty and battered stage, and then would begin the chaos of excited fans making their exits while those with backstage passes swarmed to meet their idols.

His head was swimming with excitement, and even after such a wild performance, his energy did not wane as he shook every hand and signed every autograph. Yes, he was tired. He was halfway through his tour of the US and still had a tour of the UK that would follow immediately after, giving him little time to rest and recover. But it was worth it. Sharing his art with the world and receiving their love and admiration in return made everything worth it.

As the last of the fans finally made their departure, Marilyn Manson stretched his aching limbs. Normally, he was in the mood for a late night of celebrating another successful show with his bandmates, but tonight he was beginning to feel the weight of the last few weeks and had already resigned himself to a night on his own, having already rented out a suite for himself where he could recharge and be ready to bring them hell by the next curtain call.

“There’s a few fans hanging near the bus,” a security guard informed him as he pulled on his coat. “But they’re being cooperative.”

“My ride here?” he asked, pulling out his phone to check his messages.

“Pulled in a couple minutes ago. I’ve got a few men ready to follow you out to make sure you don’t get swarmed.”

Manson smirked at the statement and headed for the exit as the guard followed him. “Bring ‘em on. I’ll kick all their asses.”

“A few fans” had been a gross understatement, he realized quickly as his tour bus was surrounded. However, the band seemed to be enjoying the final contact and there was no apparent trouble. Satisfied with that, he made his way in a different direction to where a car was waiting to take him to the hotel. If anyone noticed him, they made no move to reach him, a rare occurrence. Instead of the sounds of a stampede, he could only hear the crowds making their departure and the impatient honking that hailed the beginnings of a traffic jam. Manson smiled to himself, taking pride that even this late in his career he was still able to make a city come to an obnoxious halt with his presence. Perhaps that was ego, but he would not deny that he felt pride.

As he drew closer to his car, the smell of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils and he found himself immediately craving one for himself. He patted down his pockets, frowning when he realized his pack had been left on the bus. “Aw fuck… hold on,” he said, waving off the guard who was still walking alongside him. He could see a new puff of smoke release from around the corner of an empty alleyway, and he made his way there, approaching at a cautious distance so as not to startle whoever had just triggered his nicotine craving.

A figure was sitting at the opening of the alley, its back leaning against the cold city brick and its legs bent in a relaxed state. Despite the cold night air, the person seemed to be enjoying themselves in their moment of solitude, though he did notice the beginnings of shivering. “Excuse me?” he spoke up at last, and person turned their head, the odd traces of light from the distant street lamps finally allowing him to see it was a woman.

She wore a pair of torn jeans, a worn flannel shirt which she was holding closed with her free hand, the other holding a cigarette a few inches from her face. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail, looking like it had not been brushed recently, and for a moment he thought he had stumbled upon a homeless person. Even in the dark, he could see the way her eyes lit up when she instantly recognized him.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, excitement in her tone though she managed to contain herself enough to stay where she was. Or perhaps that was because of the cold. He was not entirely sure. “I just got out of your show! You were amazing!” Her smile was bright as she let out a chuckle of amazement.

Manson smiled in return, feeling safe enough to approach her. She was obviously harmless. “Thank you,” he replied. “Thank you very much. I’m glad you had a blast.”

“You have no idea,” she giggled. She was shivering now and he could see it.

“I was gonna ask if I can bum one off you,” he said, nodding pointedly to the cigarette in her hand. “Forgot my pack on the bus and I don’t feel like spelunking through bodies just to get at it.”

“Oh sure!” she answered a little too quickly, fishing into her pocket before removing a partially crumpled pack and holding it out to him. “They’re menthols… hope that’s okay,” she added apologetically.

“That’ll work,” he answered, stepping closer and bending down to retrieve one. She handed him her lighter as well and after a couple puffs he returned it to her, watching as she drew her legs close to her form and hugged them with her free arm. “It’s fucking cold out here. Jesus. I don’t know how you’re doing it without a coat.” She simply smiled back at him and shrugged, taking another drag from her cigarette. “You’ve got a ride coming, right?” he suddenly felt the need to ask. “You really shouldn’t be just sitting out here by yourself and without a coat.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. Her body was shaking but her bright smile was unwavering. He could sense there was something off, but it only made him curious. The guard remained where he was, keeping a close eye as Manson moved to sit down beside the woman. Seeing her closer, he noted she could not have been much older than 30, if that. A black t-shirt collar peaked out from the flaps of her outer flannel layer, and her nails were coated in heavily chipped black polish.

“Mind if I smoke with you then?” he asked her as he settled in and she nodded. “You sure smile a lot,” he added with amusement.

“Can’t help it.” She nervously brushed a stray hair from her eyes and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I feel so alive tonight. That was honestly my first concert ever.”

His brow raised in surprise. “Are you fucking serious? How old are you?”

“28.” She bit her lower lip, anticipating to be teased for her answer.

“28 and you’ve never been to a concert before tonight?”

“Nope.” She tucked a messy stray lock behind her ear before taking another drag.

“Well can I say it’s an honor then to be the one that popped your cherry?” he joked, making her laugh.

“Afraid you missed that boat a long time ago, Mr. Manson.”

“Naw, but I mean I popped your concert cherry. You’re no longer a virgin,” he pressed, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll let you have that. Guess that makes me officially damaged goods.”

“Well, I tend to do that to people.” They shared another laugh and he watched her stamp out her cigarette, only to light another one with shaking fingers. “You got anyone coming for you? Seriously, tell me the truth.”

She did not answer immediately, lighting her cigarette first, and after a slow exhale of menthol laced tobacco, she shook her head. “I used up most of my money just to get here. I don’t even know how I’m gonna get home. But… I’ll figure something out.” She took a nervous drag, squirming a bit where she sat, then looked at him again. “I know that sounds insane and stupid, and it is. Not gonna lie. But I wanted to be here tonight. And not just because of you. I mean, I’m so glad I actually got to see you perform; it’s been one of my dreams. But, I just  _ needed _ to be here. I needed to do this.”

She was struggling with her words now, but Manson was intrigued, so he sat quietly in hopes she would continue.

“I’ve wasted so much of my life,” she said at last. “I mean, I can barely explain this without sounding crazy. But I’ve recently decided I’m just… done with it. I’m done with living a life I don’t like and being someone I don’t like. So I went with a whim and now I’m seeing where it’s going.”

The artist blinked, not sure if he should feel concerned or impressed. “So you just… spent all your money to come out here and see a concert with no idea of how you’ll get home? On a whim?”

“I know, I know. It’s insane.” She held up her hands in defeat. “But you don’t understand. I needed to do it. I had to do this for myself. I’m tired of living my life in a box. I’m tired of always doing the safe thing. The sane thing. I’ve been doing it all my life and you know what? It’s never made me happy.” She let out a smokey sigh and tilted her head back against the bricks to look at the night sky. The light pollution of the surrounding cityscape made it impossible to tell if there were even any stars out there.

“So what happens after this?” Manson asked after a few minutes.

“Don’t know,” she answered. “But we’ll see.”

In that moment he was torn between the rational and irrational. While he certainly could admire her sudden burst of ambition that had driven her to break free of whatever life cycle she’d felt trapped inside, that did not change the fact that her decision making was currently resulting in her sitting alone in an alleyway, on a cold night, completely broke and stranded. That she had no roof over her head for the night bothered him the most. She seemed too kind and too naive to be willingly in that situation and he doubted she’d last long on the streets.

“Listen,” he sighed, watching as she turned her eyes back to him, her second cigarette nearly diminished already. “I think what you’re doing is important, to you. I’ve always been an advocate of being true to yourself and to live your life the way you want without regrets…” His voice trailed off but she waited for him to continue. “Problem is I’m gonna worry about you if you don’t have a place to sleep tonight. I can’t, in good conscience, just leave you here in the cold while I go back to a luxury hotel room…” She opened her mouth to interject, but he was already fishing out his phone, searching through his call history for his hotel’s number. Whatever she began to say, he did not hear it, pressing redial instead and waiting to be connected.

The woman sat quietly, waiting as he silently hoped there would still be a vacancy available. With the concert in the heart of the city, nearly every place was guaranteed to be booked solid, but all he needed was a little bit of luck.

“That will be perfect. Thanks. We’ll see you in a bit.” He smiled as he hung up and turned to her again, rising to his feet and extending a hand to her. “It’s your lucky night. They still had a suite available.” She looked at his hand, chewing on her lower lip, then back at him.

“I can’t pay you back, and I don’t want your pity…”

“It’s not pity,” he replied softly. “Consider this a helping hand in your new beginning.”

Seeming to be pleased with that response, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. As they walked to his waiting car and the driver opened the door for her, he asked a question he only then realized he’d been neglecting.

“What’s your name?”

“Amanda.”


	2. The Hotel

“Whoa… my God!” Amanda cried, her fingers running excitedly into her ratty ponytail while she took a few nervous steps forward. “It’s so big! Jesus, this is like an apartment.” The entryway led into an open lounge area, a luxury sectional couch curving from the far wall and facing a plasma screen TV. There was a small dining nook off to the side with a mini bar, and through an adjacent doorway, she leaned over to spot the king-sized bed which looked so inviting.

 “It’s all paid for,” Manson spoke at last, taking a few steps inside to survey the space. “And order as much room service as you want. You’ve gotta be starving.”

 “This is too much,” she said, turning to face him. “I can’t possibly accept this. I mean you don’t even know me.”

 “Do you have to know someone to justify doing the right thing?” he inquired, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s the least I can do. Really. So enjoy yourself for a night, you got it?”

 Amanda said nothing, but moved closer to him, giving him a grateful squeeze which he returned with a stifled laugh and a pat to the top of her head with his leather gloved hand. “Thank you,” she breathed into his coat. “This night’s already meant so much to me, just getting to see you perform, but this is incredible. Thank you. Really.”

 She released him, running her finger under her eyes as she sniffed and for a moment the singer felt moved for her. He still did not fully understand the circumstances that had led her to this point in her life, but that he was able to add a moment of hope to it, he could see for himself, truly meant something. He had no idea what would happen to her after that night, and speculating on it gave him an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 He was reluctant to say goodbye, fairly certain it would be the last time he saw her, but he was certain they’d both be slow to forget the encounter. “Take care of yourself, Amanda,” he bid her sincerely with a bow of his head. “And good luck with your life.”

 With that, he headed back through the door he’d entered, leaving the stunned woman to take in her surroundings with awe one more time before jumping into a much needed shower.

 Despite the weariness he had felt shortly after the show, once Manson found himself alone in his room with nothing but his suitcase, he could feel his energy beginning to recharge. He never slept normal hours. He was notorious for it. Many writers and artists describe having a specific time of day where their creativity peaks. His time of day just happened to be around 3am. His own personal witching hour.

 Meeting Amanda had certainly flipped the right switch and after ditching his clothes and makeup in exchange for something more comfortable, he withdrew a journal from his suitcase and perched himself in the large bay window to write for a bit.

 The room he had booked for himself was set up exactly the same as Amanda’s and located at the opposite end of the U-shaped corridor. In fact, when he glanced out his window he noticed he could see across to Amanda’s window. She was in the process of stripping out of her filthy flannel shirt and tugging off her t-shirt to reveal yet another undershirt beneath that. She may not have had a coat, but at least she had been wearing layers, he realized. Not that it would have done her a lot of good if she had spent the night on the streets.

  _She’s a big girl_ , he reminded himself. _She’s gotta take whatever path she needs right now. That’s all anyone can do._

 By the time daylight finally began to fill the sky, he had stolen enough views of her window to witness her wash her clothes in the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel the rest of the night as her clothing dried. Sometime around 5am, she had fallen sound asleep on top of the comforter.

 She looked so small to him, resting nearly naked on the large surface of the bed and he had a sneaking suspicion it had been one of the best night’s sleep she had enjoyed in a while. _She’s just going to be back on the streets again in the morning,_ his conscience nagged at him.

 “Nothing I can do about that,” he muttered aloud to himself.

  _Bullshit._

 “I have no obligation to her.”

  _Then why did you rent her a room?_

 “Because it was the right thing to do.”

  _Well hail Mother Fucking Teresa._

 “Fuck off.”

 He slammed his journal shut in a huff of annoyance and raked his fingers through his short cropped black hair, causing some of it to stand out in an unruly manner. Rising from the window seat, he took hold of the curtains and drew them closed.

 A few hours later, he knew it was time for him to make his way back to the bus. He dressed himself slowly, opting to leave his makeup off just to avoid being recognized when he made his way through the lobby. He would have plenty of time to cake it back on before they reached the next venue. As he packed the last of his things in his bag, he looked to the closed curtains for a moment, his curiosity prickling at him yet again. It only took a few seconds of internal debate before he finally drew them back a few inches for a peek.

 Amanda’s window was much more difficult to see through with the growing daylight, but as he squinted he was certain he saw no one on the other side. She may have already left. “Guess that’s that,” he spoke in a low voice, closing the curtains once more.When he ventured down to the lobby, his assistant was already waiting for him near the front desk with a cup of coffee in his hand. “You’re actually on time,” he joked, handing over the cup to the singer who then took down a quick gulp that scalded his tongue and throat.

 “Ah!” he hissed, rubbing his lips in annoyance to soothe the burning. “The others ready?”

 “Already loaded up on the bus and waiting for you.”

 “How long’s the drive?”

 “Six hours. Five if the traffic’s good.”

 “Traffic’s never good,” he grumbled, taking a more cautious sip while handing his bag over to his assistant. He followed him outside, ready to simply climb in the car and go when the smell of smoke and menthol drew his attention away from his ride. Amanda was leaning against a concrete post, her hair braided back in a tight french braid and a lit cigarette in her hand. She was watching the cars as they drove by, no doubt planning her next move, whatever that might be. There was a serenity in her features as opposed to the nervous star-struck demeanor she had displayed that previous night. She seemed focused now and more confident. It made him feel a moment of assurance.

 Stepping closer, he noted her clothes gave off the smell of the hotel’s shampoo, and his heavy footfalls called her attention and brought forth a friendly smile. “Good morning,” she said, fishing out her pack and holding the opened end to him. Without a word, he accepted her offer then leaned forward as she ignited her lighter for him.

 “Got a long day ahead of you?” she inquired when he straightened up again.

 “Long drive. Then another show tonight.”

 “That’s gotta be exhausting,” she replied in a sympathetic tone.

 He shook his head, taking a slow drag and releasing it. “Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I get most, if not all of my energy from my art. Performing it live is like an adrenaline shot to the soul.”

 “You definitely made me feel charged up last night,” she agreed. “Is it always like that?”

 “Usually,” he admitted. “So what’s next for you?”

 She let out another puff of smoke, then dropped the butt to the pavement to stomp it out. “My last paycheck should have deposited at midnight. It’s just for three days worth of work, but I figured I’d use it to help me get to the next town over. I saw a few ads in the pennysaver for a couple of quick odd jobs. Won’t pay much, but it will at least buy me some time to figure things out.”

 “Where are you trying to get to?” He was curious as to if she even had an idea in mind.

 “I don’t know. I’d love to see more of Colorado. Pot’s legal here and the mountains are beautiful.” She gave a soft chuckle and he nodded with her in agreement. He watched her as he continued to smoke, until his stare made her uncomfortable. “What is it?”

 “I don’t know,” he sighed, dropping his cigarette to the ground. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a little worried about what’s going to happen to you after I leave.”

 “I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit, Mr. Manson.” There was a teasing tone in the way she used his name removing all doubt that the “Mr.” was meant to be polite. “I didn’t do this because I thought it would be easy. I’m not naive.”

 “I’ve never said that you were. But what about your friends or family? Isn’t someone going to come looking for you eventually?”

 She shook her head. “My only friends were my coworkers and I don’t know if you could even call them friends considering we never saw each other or even tried to see each other outside of work. And as for family…” Her voice trailed off as she considered her next sentence carefully. “No one’s going to come looking for me.”

 She stated it as if it were a simple fact with no trace of remorse in her voice. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied but she shook her head.

 “Don’t be.” She glanced back at his car, noticing his assistant’s impatient glare. “I’d better not keep you. Thank you again for everything you did for me. I won’t forget that kindness.”

 “It was my pleasure, Amanda,” he said, extending his hand to her. She gave it a slow shake and a parting smile before watching him disappear into his car.


	3. One Year Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited. Further explanation will be included in the notes of Chapter 6 when it is posted.

While the memory of Amanda did not altogether leave, Manson’s thoughts of her began to fade as the weeks turned into months. On occasion he would wonder where her path had led her, if she’d been successful in her endeavor to start herself over or if she had given up and returned home. For the first month, on nights when it rained or the temperature dropped to uncomfortable levels even for him, he would send out a silent wish that she was somewhere warm. She had only been in his life for a blink, if that, but she was a kind person which only made her situation harder for him to shrug off. Though his bandmates knew enough of what happened that night to know he had paid for a hotel room for a fan, he never told them the full story.

A year passed and the memory of her was soon pushed aside as he became more and more engulfed in his own work. Another album was in the works which meant a new tour would soon be planned out as well as the usual storm of promotional stunts and interviews. When the time came for his first performance, the moment he took the stage he found himself once again lost in the energy of his own creation as well as the excitement of the screaming audience.

The songs flowed from him like muscle memory. His voice twisted sharply from one pitch to another and alternated between shouting and growling with ease. Fuck the people who said he was growing too old for this. This was where he was meant to be and if he had it his way, he would have the stage until the day he finally dropped dead, preferably with a microphone still clutched in his hand.

By the time he finished his final encore, his all had been spent for the audience to witness, and he disappeared backstage with a feeling of complete satisfaction. There was a limited window for him to ready himself for the people who had paid extra for a meet-and-greet, so he worked quickly, fixing his disheveled hair and cleaning up his appearance just enough to look like a rock star who had not just come back from running a marathon. Those were the only moments he felt his age. When he was younger he never needed this time unless if he had worked some particularly messy props into the show. But now it was more of an effort to hide any signs of fatigue, not that he particularly felt it himself. He never felt it after the first show in a tour.

“Five minutes, Mr. Manson,” the stage manager called back to him from the other side of the closed door.

“Fuck yeah,” he called back with a grin, heading to take his place backstage where the others were already waiting for him.

The sounds of the doors opening drew their attention to security making an honest attempt to lead the VIP guests forward in a somewhat orderly manner. Expecting that to even be possible after one of his shows was practically a joke. “They’re heeeere,” Manson crooned, doing his best Carol Anne voice, and one by one the fans filed their way up to the band, ready to collect autographs, selfies, and whatever other memories they could grab in the short time that they had.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Manson said as he finished signing a poster for a young man in a trench coat.

“You were fucking awesome, man!” the fan declared as he shook hands with the rock star. “Can I get a quick picture with you?”

“Yeah, sure man,” Manson answered moving to stand closer so he could be in the frame. After attempting without much success to get the both of them to fit into the frame, the man looked to another person in the crowd and waved to get her attention.

“Hey, ma’am?” he called. The woman looked up at him curiously as the man held his phone out to her. Manson did not notice her, his attention briefly being drawn away as something caused an uproar of laughter from the fans behind him. “Would you mind? Kinda having trouble here…” the man asked.

“No problem,” she answered with a smile, taking his phone and stepping back. By the time Manson looked forward again, the woman was already holding the phone in front of her face, adjusting the angle until she was satisfied with it. “Okay, here we go,” she called to the pair. “One… two… three!” There came a blinding flash, then she lowered the phone to check the screen. “Manson’s kinda washed out, but I think it came out okay,” she mused, handing the phone back to the man ahead of her.

“Thanks miss,” he said with a smile. “You’re the best.” When the man moved onward, the woman stepped forward with a smirk on her face, and Manson’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took her in.

“You look familiar…” he stated, trying to piece it together in his mind. The woman simply shrugged at his statement but he could not ignore the knowing look in her eyes, almost as if she were teasing him.

“I went to one of your shows a year ago. Maybe you saw me in the crowd?” she offered.

“Maybe…” He stared at her for another moment longer before shaking it off and offering to sign the poster in her hand. “You want a picture too?” he asked as he handed it back.

“I’d love one but my battery died like an hour ago,” she confessed with a shrug. “It’s cool though. I was able to capture enough of the show so I’m not exactly empty-handed.”

“Well shit, that sucks. Glad you had a good time anyways.” She nodded and reached out to shake his hand. “You coming to anymore of the shows?”

“I doubt it. Work and all. But hey, glad I got to see this one.” She released his hand and looked him over one last time. He knew her face and it was bothering him more and more that he could not place it. From the look in her eyes, he sensed she was disappointed. Just a little. “Well, thanks for a fucking awesome night. Good luck on your tour.” With a parting nod, she made her way past the rest of the band, rolling the poster in her hands as she waved to the other members of the band.

Manson frowned, internally kicking himself as another fan approached him with a cellphone in her hand. As she drew closer, he caught a faint whiff of menthol smoke coming off of her clothes, and his eyes widened in realization. “Shit!” he hissed, tearing away from the others to make a run for the exit.

Amanda was halfway to the parking lot when there came the sound of commotion behind her, comprised of startled security guards and the loud clomping of platform boots on pavement. “Amanda!” shouted a voice, and she stopped immediately, twisting her head around to see the singer slowing to a fast walk before coming to a stop in front of her with a startled look in his eyes. “Amanda,” he huffed. “Right? You’re Amanda?”

Her brow raised in amusement but her smile was genuine. “I can’t believe you actually fucking remembered,” she laughed, stepping closer to him. “Took you long enough.”

“Shit, how the fuck have you been? ‘Course I didn’t forget!” He pulled her into a hug, hearing too late the sound of her poster crushing between them, but she did not seem to mind as she wrapped an arm around him to hug him back tightly.

“I’ve been good!” She patted his back and took a slow step back to look at him. “I’ve been good. Got myself into a better situation. Well… good enough that I was able to go to my second concert ever.” She laughed again and Manson grinned at her, feeling an unexpected warmth and catharsis spread in him to see her looking as well as she did. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail again, but this time she looked clean and well groomed. Her faded clothes he had once seen her wash in a hotel bathtub were replaced with fresh looking apparel, and he noted there was slightly more weight on her frame as opposed to the last time he saw her.

Unlike the last time, he did not doubt it when she said she was doing well.

“So what happened to you?” he said at last. “I’ve gotta ask because-”

“Mr. Manson!” came a shout and they both turned their heads to see an annoyed looking staff member standing in the doorway of the backstage entrance. “There are people waiting here for you!”

“Fucking hell…” he growled in annoyance.

“I better not keep you, the VIP package is fucking expensive,” Amanda assured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “It was amazing seeing you again.”

“Here wait…” he said, taking her by the wrist and extending her arm. “Sorry, I don’t have any paper.” He tugged up her sleeve and began to scribble something in black ink on her arm. “Two hours. Call that number in two hours. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she chuckled. “Your handwriting is terrible.”

“Fuck you, your skin sucks,” he joked back, snapping the cap back onto his marker. He turned to leave but held up two fingers pointedly to her. “Two hours,” he insisted.

“Two hours,” she repeated back, and with that Manson headed back into the building, arguing in a string of vulgarity with the annoyed staff member as the door closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have been reading so far, my deepest love to you and I hope that you're enjoying things so far.


	4. A Moment of Insanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will occasionally deal with religious content from a critical view. The OC has a religious background she's struggling to reconcile with and is at this stage in the plot resentful of it. There may be moments where it is viewed in a negative light through the OC. I want to apologize in advance if I cause offense as it is not my intent and I want to make clear that this story is in no way meant to bash any major religion or those with personal religious or spiritual views. It is simply handled with the opinions/experiences of the characters involved. Also, any of Manson's opinions that I write about regarding the issue are strictly based from quotes from his many interviews as well as things he has said in his autobiography for the sake of accuracy. There's already enough bullshit believed about him in regards to religion so I will do my best not to add to it.

_“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.” Psalm 19:14_

_“The Bible says we are in this world but we are not of this world. We are to be salt and light. We are to be reflections of God and his goodness and love. How many of you can honestly say you live your daily lives with that verse in your heart? How many of you will leave here today and indulge yourself in a secular world filled with sex, violence, drugs, swearing… How many of you will consent to let things that are not of God to be a part of your daily living?”_

_There was no answer in the room as there never would be. When Pastor Trent asked a question No one was meant to actually answer it. If anyone claimed they were guilty of secular living, they were shamed. If they claimed the opposite, they were called out to be a liar. Looking around at the other kids sitting in various states of interest while they listened to the youth pastor speak, any rational person would see the impossibility of expecting a group of almost teenagers to actually intentionally live such a sheltered existence. A life without rock music, drugs, violent video games, or even swearing. But for some of them, it was very real._

_There were people in the room who were like her, who barely knew any life outside of the faith. They lived in Christian homes, they attended Christian schools, they were in church and Sunday school every week and youth group on Wednesday nights. They didn’t swear. They didn’t drink. They didn’t experiment with drugs or sex. They loved and feared that heavenly being in the clouds who was watching their every move, ready to punish them if they strayed._

_And they enjoyed it because they were taught that was love. They were loved by that being and they were blessed to live that life and mourned those who did not._

_“I want you to pay close attention to those words,” Pastor Trent continued, tapping at the pages of the worn Bible in his hands. “Because it doesn’t just say ‘May the words of my mouth be pleasing.’ It doesn’t just specify your actions -the way you present yourself in the world. It doesn’t just specify your outward appearance. It says ‘May the words of my mouth AND the meditation of my heart… be pleasing.’” He paused for effect, inspiring them to consider it further, then spoke again. “God doesn’t just care about your actions, he cares about your heart and what you allow into it.” Another pause. “I want you to remember that. It’s very important. What you allow into your life, you allow into your heart. And your heart is God’s temple.”_

It only took four rings for the other end to pick up, and Amanda could hear the commotion on the other end. Before he could speak, she said in amusement, “Two hours not long enough?”

“Hang on,” he responded loudly, the background noise growing slowly quiet enough for him to speak. “Sorry about that. After party kicked off over here so it’s fucking crazy right now. Had to get away so I can hear you.”

“If this is a bad time-”

“Don’t you dare hang up the fucking phone.”

She laughed and leaned against the headboard of the motel room bed. Her surroundings smelled like mildew and stale cigarettes, but it didn’t bother her. As far as cheap motels went, it was far less shady than it could have been. “Where’s the party?”

“Uh… some penthouse somewhere… I honestly don’t know where the fuck I am.” Manson’s laugh came in a low rumble and Amanda smiled to herself, enjoying the sound. “Where are you right now? Still in town or…?”

“Outskirts,” she answered, picking at her chipped nail polish. “All the closest motels and hotels were booked solid so I’m like 45 minutes away from where the show was.” She took a look around and snickered. “I actually found one with one of those coin machines that makes the bed vibrate.”

“Oh Jesus,” he chuckled. “I’d say you should come down here but I’d hate to pull you away from a twenty-five cent massage…”

“I think I’ll manage without,” she answered, getting to her feet. “If that’s a real invitation that is.”

“Of course it’s a real invitation. Let me find out the address and I’ll text it to you. And I’ll make sure your name’s added to the list.”

Her heart was racing with excitement as she nodded and began to look for her shoes. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll just need a few minutes to call a cab-”

“Bullshit. I’ll send a driver. That’ll be easier. Where are you?” Amanda turned to the bedside table, picking up a notepad that contained the Motel’s logo and contact information, and she read it off to him over the phone. “Okay, got it,” he announced after a moment. “I’ll send someone over. Shouldn’t be too long. See you when you get here.”

“See you soon, Marilyn.”

It was nearly an hour before the car showed up, giving her plenty of time to freshen up and make herself look more presentable. She did not own anything nearly good enough for an after party, but she doubted anyone would care. By the time she stepped out of her motel room door to wait, the car was already pulling up to the curb, the driver stepping out to regard her with a curious look. “Are you Amanda?” he called to her.

“That’s me,” she answered, and waited as he moved to open the passenger door for her.

When they arrived to the penthouse, it was growing very late at night, but the party was in full force, the music blaring so loud she could feel the bass reverberating off her chest and the lights so dim she could barely see through the crowd of partygoers. She had no idea who any of those people were and shuffling through the mess of bodies made a feeling of claustrophobia creep over her.

From the bar, Manson spotted her, craning her head from side to side in an attempt to pick him out. She looked completely lost and out of her element, but she had come none the less and it made him smile. Pouring a second drink, he made his way up to her, extending a glass of absinthe as her eyes met his. “You made it,” he greeted and she beamed at him, accepting the drink.

“Thanks for inviting me,” she replied, finding the need to shout over the music. “I’ve never been to one of these before.”

“My advice to you then is: don’t try to keep up with anyone here.” He held up his own drink for emphasis before knocking back a mouthful. “You’ll just die,” he added, wiping his lips on his gloved hand.

“Salud,” she chuckled, raising her glass to him and taking in a mouthful. Her eyes widened and she swallowed it down with a dry cough. “Jesus, what the hell is that?”

“Absinthe,” he laughed at her.

“It goes down smooth,” she stated sarcastically, taking another sip without much luck. The face she made as she struggled only managed to amuse him further and he pointed out the bar to her.

“There’s plenty of other stuff I can get you if you want.”

“No, no, I got this,” she replied, giving her drink a sniff as if she assumed it would make any difference. She stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to say to him, the roaring music making her thought process all the more fuzzy. Though that may have been the absinthe.

“You want to go talk somewhere?” he called to her, looking behind him to the sliding glass door which led to the outer balcony.

“Sure,” she answered loudly, gesturing for him to lead the way.

The difference in noise was almost jarring the moment they stepped outside. They could still hear the music pounding away once the door was closed, but Amanda could at least hear herself think. The singer led her to a set of stairs which took them to the roof, and once they were at the top, they were completely alone together, everyone else either inside or drinking and making conversation on the balcony.

“That’s better,” Manson said with a grunt, lowering himself on a padded bench. Amanda took a seat next to him, turning herself so she was seated with her legs crossed and her body facing him. She took another sip of her drink but only made the same coughing sound she had before. “You really don’t have to drink that,” Manson snickered in amusement.

“I’m fine. Wow that’s strong…” She set the drink down on the end table behind her and tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

“So what happened to you?” he asked her, unable to help jumping right into his curiosity. “You were pretty much homeless the last time I saw you.”

“No, I  _was_  homeless the last time you saw me,” she corrected. “Probably would have been camping out in an alley that night if it hadn’t been for you.” She licked her lips, nodding to herself as she felt the alcohol begin to warm her cheeks. “I had to spend a few months bouncing between shelters -that was fun.” Her tone was sarcastic but she shrugged it off in the next breath. “But they’ve got those programs, you know? To help people in situations like mine try to find work. Mostly they were temp jobs that only lasted a couple of days at the max, and money was really tight for a while. I had to be very careful, cut out a lot of meals and learn to make a set of clothes last as long as humanly possible. Some nights I couldn’t get to a shelter before the doors closed for the night so I did spend plenty of nights on the streets.”

“Christ,” Manson sighed, his expression growing more sympathetic.

“Saving up my money was the hardest part. I mean it’s one thing when you already have a roof over your head and a guaranteed food source, and you’ve got cash in your pocket that you just want to burn on something you really don’t need… But being hungry or dirty or needing new clothes and trying to decide when to give in and spend some cash on one of those things is the worst. Every time I bought myself a meal, I couldn’t stop worrying about how far I’d possibly just set myself back by not just sucking it up and dealing with the hunger.”

“That’s no way to live,” he murmured, taking a slow drink from his glass.

“Mind if I smoke?” Amanda asked, already pulling out her pack of cigarettes.

“Be my guest.”

She lit herself a cigarette, and after a few puffs she continued. “Eventually, I saved up enough to buy something decent enough for an interview but try getting work when there’s no address or phone they can contact you with.” She snorted at the notion and shook her head. “Ended up finding work in one of those thrift stores run by charity organizations that provide for the needy. It took a stellar interview plus the references from enough temp jobs to prove I was someone worth them investing at least minimum wage on. They started me with hardly any hours, like a sort of probationary period, but eventually I was working the fine line between part and full time. I hated it there, but it was work.” She took another drag from her cigarette and sighed it back out into the night air. “After a while I was able to get into income adjusted housing in a really dumpy part of the city. Just a studio apartment that could pass as a broom closet. But once I had that as a permanent address and bought something to pass for a cellphone, I was able to get a job somewhere else.”

“And where are you working now?” he inquired curiously.

“A little hole-in-the-wall bookshop,” she answered, a hint of pride in her smirk. “For the record, I despise customer service and working in retail in general, but at least with this job I’m getting paid to encourage people to read. And my boss is tolerable. Makes it somewhat worthwhile.”

“You read a lot?”

“Oh, now more than ever. I can burn through at least a book a week if I have enough free time.”

He smiled at the statement then finished his drink. Amanda reached for her own glass which was still half full, and handed it to him, relieved when he accepted it while mercifully sparing her the teasing that immediately came to mind. “Did you never once think of going back?” he asked her after a moment. “Especially those nights on the streets.”

Without hesitating she answered, “Never.” The statement was so final it made him blink in surprise.

“What were you running from?”

Her eyes lowered a bit as she drew her legs closer, resting her chin on top of her knees. “I was raised with a certain lifestyle that I stayed with because I was expected to,” she answered vaguely. “I couldn’t deviate from it, not while I was still surrounded by my family and their friends. I mean, I wasn’t living at home anymore when I left, I had my own place, but the pressure never left. I just…” She paused, mulling over her words. “I needed to get out of there. I didn’t see any other way than what I did. And now that I’m out, I’m free to finally live my life and figure out the kind of person I really am. Maybe there was a better way to do it… but I can’t really explain why I needed to do it that way.”

At her confession he frowned, already making guesses as to what exactly that “lifestyle” had been. “You know, when I was a kid, my parents had me in a Christian school. Not because they were particularly religious; they really weren’t. It was because they wanted me to have a better education.”

“I remember reading that,” she replied with a sympathetic smile.

“One thing I’ll never forget about it though is how much they were able to use guilt and fear to manipulate kids into following their theology and scare them from deviating. I was often scared myself in the beginning. I used to have nightmares about the end of the world and the antichrist and all that. I mean I’ve made the joke before that it was like a cult, but the more I look back, the less it feels like a joke.”

“Indoctrination,” she stated, lifting her head. “The flowery term of choice.”

“I’ve got nothing against religion-” he began but she cut him off in a harsh tone that startled him.

“I do.”

He paused, watching her closely for a moment, half expecting it to be the beginning of a rant. Instead she let out a sigh and took another puff from her cigarette. “Don’t mind me, I’m bitter,” she chuckled. He gave a nervous laugh in return and shrugged.

“Well as I was saying, I’ve got nothing against religion, contrary to popular belief. Or rather… I’ve got nothing against people who turn to religion for their own personal benefit. But I dislike the way God is portrayed or used and how religion gets used by people to control and manipulate. When it’s kept personal, it’s one thing. But using it on other people is a thing that I don’t agree with.” She nodded though he was not entirely certain she agreed with him.

“Well, this conversation’s getting a bit heavy,” she said after a few moments of silence, her smile slowly returning. “For crying out loud, it’s a party and I’ve only got until tomorrow afternoon before I have to hop on the bus back to Denver. We should be having fun!”

Manson flashed her a grin and rose from his seat, extending a hand to her. “Come on then,” he said as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go find you something you can drink.”

A few hours later, daylight was threatening to break and Amanda had enough alcohol in her system to make her social anxiety melt away, allowing her to socialize with some of the other band members as well as a few of the celebrities in attendance. Manson stayed close by to make sure she did not get lost in the crowd, and when it finally came time to leave, he rode with with her as his driver took them back to her motel room.

“What a night,” she murmured, her voice clouded with exhaustion and a decent amount of inebriation. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun.” She lazily rested her head against the car window, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “You’re an amazing person, Marilyn Manson.”

He smiled warmly at her his own head still swimming from all the absinthe. “I’m nothing, babe,” he muttered. “Just an artist who has gotten really really lucky in the past. As well as very unlucky,” he added with a stifled laugh. “Either way I’m very glad I got to see you again. I really did wonder about what happened to you.”

“That’s kinda sweet.” She reached over, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just sucks that I have no idea when I’ll see another one of your shows. I could barely afford this one. Though I promise, if I ever buy the VIP package again, I’ll remind you who I am and not make you run across the parking lot to find me.” Her words were slurring slightly and her laugh was a little louder than it needed to be, but he enjoyed the happiness on her face.

“You know what… fuck this…” he groaned, turning to face her fully. “Come with me.”

Her eyes widened a bit. “What?”

“Come with me on tour.”

“Oh yeah right,” she scoffed.

“I’m fucking serious right now.” She began to laugh and he struggled not to join her, the alcohol in his system making it difficult. “No really, listen to me. Come with me on tour. We’ll travel around the country, you can see more shows, stay in hotels, go to more parties…”

“I can’t tell if you’re just drunk talking or…” her voice trailed off as she studied his features. When she realized he was not kidding her laughter stopped and she frowned slightly. “Marilyn, I can’t. I mean I-”

“The fuck you can’t,” he cut her off. “You uprooted your entire life to start over. You did that all on your own. You can fucking do anything.” She grinned brightly at his statement and he leaned closer to her, a mischievous look in his eyes. “You want to really live your life? Then let me help you. I can guarantee I’ll help you try almost everything you’ve ever wanted to do but never could do. Maybe even some of the things that scare you.”

He could tell by her expression that she was finally taking his offer seriously and he waited patiently for her answer. “My job… my lease… I mean I can’t just drop everything like last time. I’ll be fired and I’m mostly positive there’s a penalty fee if I cut out of my lease early.”

“I’ll pay your fee,” he insisted.

“What am I? Your charity case?” she stammered. The statement seemed to offend him and he frowned at her.

“The fuck you are,” he spat. “You’re a friend that I want to help. Okay? That’s what you are. Believe it or not.”

“Friend?” she repeated. He nodded slowly, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Absolutely you are.”

She took a deep breath, looking over his shoulder when the car coasted to the curb and came to a stop, then looked back at him, her concerns still not alleviated. “And… what about my job?” she asked him. “What about my things?”

“I’ll have it on record you came on tour as… an assistant or something. Something you can put on a resume that I will quickly back up. Doesn’t matter where the fuck you try to find work, my name always looks good on a resume.” She laughed at this and he chuckled softly. “And I’ll hire movers and get your things into storage. They’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“You’re out of your mind,” she sighed.

“Come on…” he pressed, looking into her eyes. “You’re really going to start backing away from crazy ideas now?”

Amanda held his gaze for several minutes, still trying to decide if this was a poorly thought out, alcohol-fueled plan or if the singer was being genuine. Would he still be this enthusiastic about it after sobering up?

“Where will the tour be two weeks from now?” she asked him at last.

“Chicago,” he answered. “Why?”

“Because if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. A good reference doesn’t mean anything if you just walked out of your last job without giving notice.” He seemed a little disappointed, but the fact that she was finally considering it had not escaped him either. “So give me two weeks so I can hand in my notice, pack whatever I need… and decide once and for all if this is insanity.”

“I can promise you it is,” he murmured with a grin. “You’ve got my number. Call me before the two weeks are up.”

With a nod, she reached her hand out and shook his as if they had come to some sort of business arrangement. “Two weeks,” she repeated.


	5. Don't Overthink It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited. Further explanation will be provided in the notes for Chapter 6 when I post it.

_“Grandma and Grandpa passed along Christmas list for Jennifer and the girls again.”_

_Amanda picked at her food, using her fork to cut the vegetables she hated into smaller pieces so she could simply swallow them whole and get it over with. Refusing the food on her plate was never an option so she was often forced to get creative. Though her mother’s words were directed at her father, she glanced up curiously to listen in._

_Jennifer was her aunt and the girls in question were her cousins, Janet and Lily. Janet was six years older than Amanda, but Lily was only one year older. They lived on the other end of the country, so Amanda only saw them a couple of times a year at the most. Even so, when they did visit, Lily was always her best friend for however many days she was in town. Unfortunately, Lily, as well as her mother and sister, were often the topic of criticism at the family table. Jennifer was not married, and both of her girls had different fathers. And that was only the beginning of it._

_Her mother’s tone gave away that there had already been something on that list she had found ridiculous, and her father picked up on it as well._

_“Oh no…” he responded with an expectant smirk. “What was on it?”_

_Her mother paused for effect, her expression similar to someone about to ruin another person by sharing a juicy piece of gossip about them. “Lily asked for a Marilyn Manson album.”_

_Amanda’s brow furrowed. She did not recognize the name, but the way her father laughed told her he knew exactly who that was._

_“You’ve gotta be kidding,” he chuckled._

_“Are you really surprised?” her mother asked, raising an eyebrow._

_“I guarantee you my sister has no idea who that even is or she would lock Lily up in her room for the rest of her life.” He shook his head, still looking quite amused._

_“Oh, I’m sure she knows exactly who that is,” her mother insisted, shaking her head in disapproval. “She lets the girls get into whatever they want. You know that.”_

_“Claire, there is no way she would have even included it on the list to our parents if she knew. She knows better.”_

_“I don’t know…”_

_“Who is she?” Amanda asked at last, catching their attention. “Marilyn...? Who is she?” Her question made both her parents break into laughter as if she had just cracked the perfect joke, but it only made her more confused._

_“It’s not a ‘she,’ honey,” her mother answered as her laughter calmed to a giggle._

_“Weeeell…” her father replied in jest, wiggling his hand from side to side in mocking a ‘so-so’ gesture._

_“Marilyn Manson’s a rock and roll singer,” her mother continued, shooting her father a look. “He likes to dress himself up in scary clothing and paint up his face to look like a demon.” Amanda’s eyes widened. “He writes songs about worshipping Satan and violence and drugs and sex…” her voice trailed off for emphasis and Amanda’s felt a twinge of revulsion combined with morbid curiosity (the latter she would never dare to admit to either of them). “You know… a_ **_real_  ** _wholesome person,” her mother added with a bite of sarcasm, rousing another chuckle from her father._

_“But… why's he called Marilyn? That’s not a boy’s name, is it?” She had only recently learned that ‘Ashley’ was a boy’s name as well as a girl’s name, making her wonder if ‘Marilyn’ was a similar case._

_"It’s his stage name, not his real name,” her father explained. “He combined the name Marilyn Monroe with Charles Manson. I’m pretty sure all the members of that band gave themselves weird names like that.”_

_“Who’s Charles Manson?”_

_“Don’t worry about that,” her mother intervened, gesturing to the plate of food she’d been neglecting. “Eat your dinner. You’ve still got homework to finish before bed.”_

_“But why would anyone want to do that?” Amanda asked as she choked down another mouthful of vegetables, forcing herself not to make a face as she knew they would tease her and make it more difficult for her to finish. “Why would anyone act like that, I mean?”_

_“Because some people hate God, sweetie.” Her mother’s judgmental tone had softened, reflecting genuine remorse over the statement. “Some people get caught up in Satan and all his lies and they like to use it to rebel against God. The fact that he’s even famous just shows you what sort of times we are living in.”_

_Amanda questioned how famous the singer could really be if she was only just now hearing about him, but she hated it when her mother spoke like that. Not the judgments but the implication in the words ‘the times we are living in.’ There was always the threat of a nearing apocalypse in sentences like that. What little she had been told about the rapture, both in school and in church, had given her a lot to be afraid of. An antichrist, an era of tribulation and suffering for Christians…_

_The end of the world..._

_“Society is glorifying evil,” her mother continued, breaking Amanda from her frightened train of thought. “Marilyn Manson’s success is only proof of it.” She let out a mournful sigh and shook her head. It only made Amanda even more uncomfortable. Her mother knew and understood more about God and the Bible than she did herself. Statements like that only convinced her that the end was rapidly approaching and her mother could somehow already see it on the horizon. “What they don’t realize is music like that is like poison to the mind. It warps the way you think and it changes you. God tells us to stay away from it for a reason.”_

_“He’s a sick person,” her father chimed in, reaching across the table for a second helping. “And when he finally dies and has to meet God face to face, he’s going to feel like a complete idiot and it will be too late for him. People like that don’t get into Heaven.”_

_  
~*~_  

 

> * * *
> 
> “Dear Diary,
> 
> I took the leap today, and I don’t know if I’m excited or scared. I touched down in Chicago around 4pm with nothing on me but a backpack with the bare minimum. I know I’m insanely under packed but I didn’t have any actual luggage I could use. There was a driver already waiting for me and he took me to the hotel to settle in before the show.
> 
> I keep thinking back to when I was a kid. When Marilyn Manson was made up to be like he was some sort of demon who’d crawled out of the pits of god knows where to corrupt and manipulate innocent minds. I don’t know why that image stuck with me for so long, but it did. I guess it was effective, even if it wasn’t accurate. Still, I know my younger self would be horrified if she ever found out I would eventually go to one of his concerts, let alone what I’m doing now. Can’t even imagine what my parents would think if they knew.
> 
> Every time he takes the stage there’s this energy that becomes contagious. It doesn’t matter that he’s aged or that his body’s changed over the years, the fire in him is still a raging inferno. Tonight was my third show, and even though it wasn’t that much different from the performance I just saw two weeks ago, the effect was very much the same. I felt my body disappear into the crowd and my soul get snatched up into the atmosphere with every growl and every angry strum of the guitars or crash of the drums. If this is possession, then I should have tried it a long time ago.
> 
> I don’t know where this is going, but I intend to ride it out to the end. I may hardly know any of them, and I may be currently staying in a city I’ve never been to before in my life, but I feel like I’m more at home now than I ever have been. I’m not sure if that says anything about my personal sanity, but I don’t really care. I’ll never get an opportunity like this again, and I’m glad I took it.”
> 
> * * *

 

“You look so alone over here!”

Amanda looked up from her diary, smiling as a man she recognized to be the drummer made his way up to her with a drink in his hand. It was closing in on 3am and she had found herself a cozy spot in the hotel lounge near a fireplace. Everyone else had either headed to their rooms for the night or were still at the after party with more energy to burn than she had.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized with embarrassment. “I’m still learning names… I wanna say Gil?”

He chuckled and raised his glass to her with a nod. “Got it on the first guess,” he confirmed, and she felt relieved as she realized he was not about to tease her for her ignorance.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, feeling more comfortable addressing his earlier statement now that she had his name down. Her fingers ran lightly over the pages, enjoying the feel of the contours her pen had created. The sensation helped to stave off anxiety as she still felt like a complete stranger to all of them.

“Yeah, get used to it,” Gil muttered, dropping into a chair across from her. His gaze landed on the leather bound book in her lap and he nodded to it pointedly. “You write?”

“Just a diary,” she said, drawing the ribbon over the page before closing it. “I’ve got too many thoughts in my head right now. Just had to vent some of them out.”

At this, he grinned mischievously at her. “We’re driving you crazy already?” 

“God, no," she snickered. "I can’t even tell you how much I love this. All of this.” She eyed his drink for a moment, then picked up her water bottle from the floor for a quick gulp. “This is like a whole new world to me. I keep thinking I’m gonna just… wake up at any second and I’ll be back home again, bored out of my mind.”

“Yeah, Brian told me a little bit about you.” The sound of Manson’s real name sounded odd to her out loud.

“He say I was some crazy homeless chick he took pity on?” she joked.

“More like you were a lost person who needed a little chaos for guidance,” he answered before taking a deep swallow from whatever was in his hand. Possibly whiskey. “And don’t ever think it’s pity. I’ve only been working with him for three years, but even I know he’s not the type to 'take pity.’”

“He rented me a hotel room when he knew almost nothing about me,” she pointed out in amusement. “He talked me into uprooting my life -again- and now he’s taking me all over the country and not as a groupie… I think.” She was joking but even Gil laughed at the implication. “I know it’s not pity but… I don’t know what it is.”

“That's probably exactly how he wants it,” Gil stated with a shrug. “The man has a love for making question marks.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Well, then the only advice I have to you is not to overthink it. You will make yourself insane if you even attempt to figure out half the things he does. He mostly just does it because he can. That's not to say there’s never some sort of actual reason, but good luck in figuring it out.”

“Noted,” she sighed, rubbing at her burning eyes. “Well, he did call me his friend so… there’s that.”

“Well then there you go,” the drummer said, raising his glass to her. She smiled at him and adjusted herself in her seat, setting the diary aside on an end table so she could lean forward and rest her elbows on her crossed legs, tenting her fingers in front of her.

“I’m really not a groupie, by the way,” she said, making him seem surprised she even felt the need to say it. “I know everyone must think that I am. I’m almost 20 years younger than him… I know how that’s gotta look.”

“So? Fuck what other people think,” he cut in. “And so what if you were?”

“Because it sounds so shallow, that’s what,” she laughed.

“There’s nothing shallow about wanting to fuck someone you admire. That’s called being human,” he mused.

Amanda frowned and shook her head. “I meant that…” She paused to think, exhaustion starting to finally take over, making thinking all the more difficult. “I mean that what he’s given me… this opportunity… it just means a lot to me. This is something big for me. Something real. It’s important to me. And having people think that I’m just another sex crazed fan he’s gonna hump his way around the country just cheapens it in my head.”

Gil frowned as he contemplated her admission, then leaned forward, looking as if he were about to give her a lecture. Instead, he had only two words. “Stop overthinking.” Her lips curved into a faint smile and he reclined back in his seat, swirling the drink around in his glass while occasionally giving it a half-drunken glance. “This moment is what it is. All of this if going to be whatever you make it to be. So just enjoy it and stop worrying about what anyone will think of you. Enjoy yourself and have fun. Otherwise you’re just going to waste it.”

Amanda took in his words, unable to help feeling impressed every time someone in the band said something remotely profound even though she knew well enough by now that there was a lot more depth to all of them than her parents and teachers had once led her to believe. “Thanks,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes again. “I needed to hear someone other than myself say that.”

“Always glad to be of service,” he slurred, making her realize he had probably been fairly intoxicated the entire time. Somehow it did not detract from anything he told her.

“I’d better get to bed,” she yawned, rising from her seat. “Finally feels like the asscrack of dawn.”

“In all her glory,” Gil agreed with a yawn of his own. “See you in the morning, Mandy.”

Amanda paused, looking back at him with a raised brow. “Mandy?”

“Maaaaaandy,” he droned with a grin, and she rolled her eyes and waved him off, finally heading to her room for what remained of the night.


	6. Functionally Dysfunctional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Twiggy (and the edit notes on chapters 3 and 5)...
> 
> In light of recent allegations, I no longer feel comfortable including him in this story. I don't know if he did or didn't do it, and I probably will never know unless if he were to come out and confirm it. I will say that Manson's statement on the subject left a knot in my stomach as did Jessicka's testimony. But again, I ultimately don't know if it happened and I won't act like I do. However, in light of this, I have edited him out of previous chapters and he will not be making an appearance in future chapters. I've also removed his tags so it will no longer show that he appears in this story. I apologize if this offends some fans. This is not me taking a side. I have no side. I simply don't know what the truth is and I don't want to romanticize the man in the event it turns out to be true. That would be completely disrespectful to the survivor and tasteless on my part. Until we have more facts, if we ever get more facts, this feels like the right thing to do. I hope everyone will understand my thought process in this.

“There you are…”

Amanda craned her head to the side, watching as Manson stumbled his way up to her. Judging by his smudged makeup and disheveled hair, he had gone looking for her almost immediately after rolling out of bed. She was even fairly certain he was still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

She was sitting on the roof of the hotel, perched on the ledge to watch the traffic slowly pass below. The dawn had only broken an hour ago and the sun had barely made its ascent into the sky. Even in the heart of the city, the setting was peaceful and she was enjoying the fresh morning air. As Manson made his way up to her, resting his back up against the ledge, she offered him her pack of cigarettes which he accepted with a grunt of thanks.

“Hell of a party, huh?” she asked when he gave her back the pack.

“I think my skull exploded somewhere during my crawl to the bathroom this morning,” he groaned, rubbing at his forehead which only smudged his makeup further. “And of course you had to pick a sunny place to fucking smoke.”

“That’s why you rehydrate,” she giggled, shaking her head as she drew out a cigarette for herself. “I started chugging water the second I headed back to the hotel.”

“Yeah well…” He let out a weary sigh, rubbing at his aching head again as he took another puff from his cigarette. “Sorry I didn’t see you take off last night.”

“You were getting mobbed, it’s okay,” she replied with a shrug. “I don’t expect you to keep tabs on me the entire tour. You’ve got your own stuff you’ve gotta do.”

“I know but... still felt rude of me I guess. I don’t know…” He yawned loudly, then gave his head a vicious shake as if attempting to shake off his own exhaustion. “Fuck… it’s too early for me to be thinking.”

“Then don’t think,” she replied with a warm smile, turning her head back to the sunrise. After a few puffs, she spoke again. “Thought about my parents last night.” Manson turned her head to her as little as needed to avoid catching too much of the sun in his eyes but still give her his attention. “It’s been… well over a year since I talked to them.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “They’ve gotta be worried.”

“I don’t know how to talk to them,” she sighed. “But I keep thinking about them. What they’d say if they knew where I was and what I was doing.”

“Then you should call them,” he offered. “At least let them know you’re alive.”

“Yeah I can see that going well… ‘Hi, Mom! Sorry it’s been a year. I dropped everything to go on tour with the Antichrist. How’s the cat?’” They shared a laugh and she shook her head. “Maybe when I find a way to put a more positive spin on it.”

“I think that’s the perfect fucking spin for it,” he mused.

“So, what’s on the itinerary?” she asked, changing the subject.

“We’re headed to Grand Rapids for another show tonight. Then we get a day before we head to Buffalo.” He paused for a moment, his eyes passing over her as he reflected, then he twisted himself around, leaning forward and propping his forearms on the ledge. “Do you have any thoughts about what all you’d like to do while you travel with us?”

She shrugged and offered him a half smile. “I kinda figured we’ll be too busy with concerts and partying to do much.”

“Well, that’s not all we’ll be doing,” he replied with a smirk. “I mean unless you want to. I don’t know what condition your liver’s in…”

“Best not to push it,” she answered in amusement. “I don’t know… I don’t exactly have a bucket list.”

“Well make one then. Come on and tell me, if you could do anything you wanted right now, what would it be?”

“Punch the president in the face,” she replied with a puff of smoke.

“Yeah, get in line,” he muttered. “Come on. What else do you want to do?”

“Punch the vice president in the face.”

“You’re really violent,” he chuckled. “I like it.”

“You said you’d help me do anything,” she pointed out.

“Christ, woman. Be reasonable,” he jested, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Okay fine…” She thought quietly for a moment, then looked to him with a grin. “Fight club. I want to join a fight club.”

At this he burst out with laughter, finishing his cigarette before tossing it over the edge. “Are you fucking kidding?”

“Nope,” she answered, meeting his eyes with a devilish glance. “I’ve never been in a real fist fight before and I want to do it at least once.”

“You do realize that’s fucking insane, right?” He cocked a shaved brow at her but she showed no signs of relenting. “You’ll get hurt. I mean really fucking hurt,” he continued. “And people will probably think I did it to you on top of that.”

“Fuck what people think,” she replied with a chuckle. “I want to get in a fight.” Manson sighed and shook his head, still not appearing convinced that she was being serious. “Come on,” she said, leaning closer to him. “Are you really going to start backing away from crazy ideas now?”

He met her gaze with uncertainty but was ultimately unable to hold back the smile that formed on his lips. “This is all going to end with us in jail, isn’t it,” he muttered.

Amanda smiled and tossed out her cigarette, leaning over to watch it land on the sidewalk below. “One thing at a time.”

Once they were on the tour bus, Amanda curled up on a bunk with one of her books, drawing the privacy curtain to keep the passing world outside from her line of vision. Seeing it, even from the corner of her eye, would make her car sick and she could only imagine how much the band would love her for that. From outside her cozy container, she could occasionally hear the band joking around, breaking out instruments and practicing, or arguing over who had how many beers when they started to run low. Manson’s was the only voice she barely heard, though she suspected the snoring that was coming from somewhere in the background was him.

She was not certain when exactly she’d dozed off, but the sound of her curtain slowly being drawn roused her enough into consciousness to stir a little. Her eyes remained closed but she listened, noting the unusual amount of silence. Even the bus itself had stopped moving, making her wonder if they had already reached their destination.

Her eyes slowly opened, but when she saw a pair of large, mismatched eyes that were heavily decorated in makeup and staring right back at her from the edge of the bunk, she let out a shriek and scrambled backwards until her head hit the wall of the bus with an echoing THUNK!

Laughter erupted from the interior and the moment Manson stepped back far enough for her to see the rest of his face, she finally smiled and laughed at herself while rubbing at the back of her throbbing head. “Wake up!” he choked, his voice cracking and his body still shaking with laughter. “Jesus Christ I thought you were going to go through the fucking window!”

“You’re such an ass!” she snapped, taking a swing at his face with her pillow. “Goddammit! I think I pissed myself!” She fell back on the bunk, her chest rolling with laughter and Manson reached over to rub the top of her head apologetically.

“Get up,” he finally managed to say as they both calmed down. “We’re gonna check into the hotel and then you’re coming to help out with a sound check.”

Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden loud rapping at the window behind her cut her off and sent her screaming over the edge of the bunk. Manson was able to catch her just in time, grabbing hold of her arms and pressing them to her sides as her feet met with the ground, causing her to land in an almost standing position. From outside, she could hear Gil exploding with laughter while Manson snorted, trying his best not to add more insult to injury.

“You okay?” he barely managed to say, his voice still cracking in amusement.

“I hate all of you!” Amanda shrieked at the window, watching as Gil collapsed on the other side, and she tore away from Manson’s grip, breaking into a run as she charged out the door in hot pursuit.

“Amanda, no!” Manson cackled as he barely followed her outside, watching her chase the drummer around the bus in amusement. “Don’t kill him! We need him!”

An hour later, after checking into their hotel rooms and making sure the band’s equipment had been safely delivered to the venue, they made a quick stop for some takeout then made their way to the stadium. Manson sat with her backstage, the both of them picking at a considerable spread of Chinese food while the others met with the roadies to help set things up.

“I thought you said I would be helping with the sound check?” she asked as she scooped up a mouthful of rice with her chopsticks.

“You are helping,” the singer answered, digging into a small paper bag for an eggroll. “Keeping me busy is part of the job. Otherwise I dick around with their stuff. They tend to hate that.”

“I don’t blame them,” she replied with a smirk. “I’d probably punch you in the dick.”

Manson scoffed and shook his head at her. “I would love to see you try.”

“I’m not joking. You don’t fuck with the crew. Especially not the sound crew.” She reached across, snatching up the fortune cookie sitting next to him and tore open the wrapper before he could protest.

“That’s bad luck, taking my fortune,” he stated with a pointed nod. “You don’t want to risk what a cookie decides to have in store for me.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said as she cracked it open and pulled out the slip of paper to read. “ _ You will be hungry again in one hour… _ ” Her brow furrowed and Manson shook his head.

“See? It’s always something bad.”

~*~

> Dear Diary,
> 
> I now understand what that loading screen in Guitar Hero meant when it said, “A band is your dysfunctional family of choice.” Only instead of there being some sort of mother or father figure to keep us in line, it’s more like having a reckless band of older brothers and I’m the tomboy little sister they invite to roughhouse with them.
> 
> Tonight was my fourth show but this time I remained backstage for all of it. Watching them perform and being able to have a better view of how the audience responds is an entirely different experience. I know he’s had his bad performances in the past, be it from too many drugs or too much alcohol, but he’s been on fire since the day he spotted me almost three weeks ago. Not that I’d risk saying he’s completely sober tonight, but still on fire nonetheless.
> 
> Marilyn’s asked me to start making up a list of the things I want to do, but I don’t know where to start. I wasn’t kidding when I mentioned the fight club. I’ve always wanted to try it ever since I saw the movie, as dumb as that sounds. I doubt he’s going to come through with that request though. I honestly don’t know how he’ll make time for any requests to be honest. I’ve checked the tour lineup a few times and I’ve gained a new appreciation for how hard musicians work. He’s practically spending a year on the stage rather than relaxing and having a social life. They all are. I can only imagine how calloused the guitar players’ fingers are by now.
> 
> There was another after party tonight, but I decided to skip it and spend some alone time in the hotel. My threshold for social interaction was reached before the first song even began, so I’m enjoying this. I don’t know how any of them do it.
> 
> There were photographers at the venue when we got off the bus. Paparazzi. I’ve seen them before but I think this may have been the first time they managed to snap a picture of me with the others. I don’t know if I should be worried. I probably just looked like one of the crew so no article would make mention of me, but still if any photos make it into any of the papers or magazines my parents read…
> 
> Would they even recognize me?
> 
> I’ve grown out my hair, lost some weight, and I wear more makeup than I did before I left. And I never told them about my lifestyle changes before I left. Seeing my physical appearance now and factoring in that it’s alongside a band like Marilyn Manson, maybe they wouldn’t recognize me? I don’t know if I should feel depressed by that. I wonder what they’re doing now...

~*~

 

Before she could continue any further, there came a soft knock at her door and she looked up from her journal with a start. “Just a sec!” she called, slipping off the bed, her bare feet padding softly on the carpet as she opened the door. Manson was standing on the other side with an expression she couldn’t fully read. “I thought you were at the party?” she asked in surprise.

“I was,” he answered, the corner of his mouth curving upwards. “But now I’m here to pick you up.”

Amanda gave a weary sigh as she tucked her long hair behind her ear. “Look, I really don’t feel like partying tonight. That’s why I stayed back.”

“Oh we’re not going to the party,” he said, looking her up and down in amusement. “So why don’t you throw on some pants and meet me outside.” Before she could respond, he was already heading back down the hall, leaving her to notice she’d answered the door in her t-shirt and underwear.

“Goddammit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as the news continues to be heartbreaking, RIP Scott Putesky (Daisy Berkowitz). My heart goes out to the family and friends who have been left behind.


	7. Equal Opportunity

“Where are we going?” Amanda asked as she jogged up to the singer in the cool night air. A part of her still suspected he planned to take her back to the party, but when there was no car waiting for them outside, it only made her more curious.

“You’ll see,” he answered, drawing his hood. He was dressed in his usual black apparel, but she noted that his clothing was far more casual than normal. Black jeans, black hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of ordinary Converse sneakers. She could only guess it was an attempt to not be noticed as they walked down the public sidewalk. Even his makeup was almost completely gone save for some eyeliner.

Together, they walked down several blocks, Manson keeping his head down while Amanda enjoyed the freedom to openly look around. It was closing in on one o’clock in the morning, but that did not stop the city from moving with life. They brushed past pedestrians and squinted in the occasionally blinding headlights that drove by them. When Amanda pulled out a cigarette, she caught a dirty glare from a woman but ignored it as she lit up.

“You’re not going to give me a hint?” she asked after a few more blocks were behind them.

“Can’t talk about it,” he answered, reaching over to take her hand. “This way.” He pulled her around a corner and down an alley that came up to a dead end. For the first time, Amanda began to feel nervous in his presence. She was putting all her trust in one of the greatest shock rockers of her time and up until that moment she had not begun to recognize the insanity of that decision.

“Marilyn…?” she murmured in an uncertain tone. He led her to the back of an old building where a set of concrete steps descended seemingly into darkness.

“Brian,” he said, looking at her for the first time since she joined him. “Tonight you call me Brian. Got it?” The severity of his tone and the intense look in his eyes only made her nerves grow more frayed.

“You’re scaring me,” she said, debating on pulling away from him.

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” he replied softly, turning to head down the steps. “And you’ll need a fake name.”

“Fake name?” she asked, feeling herself get tugged into the darkness. How he could tell where he was going was beyond her, but she had no choice but to follow, taking care not to trip as he held her hand in a firm grip. When they came to a sudden stop, she heard him knock on what sounded like a heavy door, and after a few moments a rusty slot was pulled open, revealing a pair of eyes on the other side.

“Name?” a man’s voice asked.

“Brian,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the set in front of them. “Brian and Guest,” he added, giving her hand a squeeze. The eyes on the other side looked down briefly, seeming to read something, then the slot slammed shut. Moments later, they could hear a latch release and the rusty metal door scraped open just wide enough for the two of them to step inside.

The man who had greeted them was now visible in the dim lighting. He held a clipboard in his hands which he scribbled something down, and he stopped Manson before they could proceed down the steps ahead of them. “I need a name for her,” he said, looking to Amanda. Manson said nothing, turning his eyes to Amanda as she cleared her throat while scrambling to think of something.

“Bettie,” she said after a moment. Manson’s brow furrowed but she had her mind made up. “Bettie… H. Holmes,” she concluded. There was a spark of recognition in Manson’s eyes and he grinned at her as the man scribbled down the pseudonym.

“Gonna just stick with Bettie, ‘kay?” the greeter replied. “Head on down. They’re about to get started.”

Manson tugged at her hand and she followed him down the steps, her heart beginning to race. “What are you getting me into?” she whispered.

“Can’t talk about it,” he repeated, making her look up at him in confusion. “You’ll get it in a minute,  _Bettie_.”

The steps led to an open door, presumably to a basement, and on the other side they found a dank but open setting, complete with concrete walls, a few pillars, no windows, and just enough lighting to see the men standing in a group on the other side, watching them closely as they stepped in. Amanda’s pulse skyrocketed and her grip on Manson’s hand tightened.

A man approached them. He had a slender but muscular build, wearing a white wifebeater and faded blue jeans. Tattoos were covering his neck and arms, and he looked the both of them up and down before extending his hand to Manson with a welcoming grin. “Can’t believe you actually came, you crazy bastard,” he said, Manson smiling as he released Amanda’s hand. The two men took a step forward, clapping each other on the back, then stepped back so Amanda could be looked at even closer. “You sure she’s up for this? She looks fucking terrified,” he chuckled.

“Oh trust me, she asked for this,” Manson answered, drawing back his hood.

“You guys know each other?” Amanda asked, still unsure if she should stop worrying.

“He’s a friend of a friend,” Manson explained, stepping behind her to place his hands on her shoulders. “Allow me to introduce Bettie, a personal friend of mine.” Bettie offered the man a nervous smile which only made him more amused.

“Bettie, I’m Ed. And judging by that look on your face, Brian there actually followed the first rule of the club.”

Amanda’s eyes widened and the look of fear turned to one of excitement. “Oh my god… you mean…?”

“Told you, you’d get it,” Manson replied smugly, unzipping his hoodie. “Ed, can we get a reading of the rules just for her benefit?”

“Was just about to do that. You two aren’t the only newbies here tonight,” Ed answered, signalling the other men to form a circle around him. Amanda noted she was the only woman in the circle, but that did not seem to matter to Ed as his questioning of her had already come to an end. “Okay, listen up!” Everyone gave the man their full attention and the room fell perfectly silent, allowing his voice to echo off the walls.

“You all know the first two rules of fight club. Some of you also may have noticed we have someone special here tonight. Some of you may have not. Do not, under any circumstances, talk about it. Not with each other, not with anyone. Do not mention their name. Do not ask for an autograph. Do not snap a picture. Do not let them know you recognize them. This is fight club, not fan club. Got it?” There was scattered nodding and Amanda somehow trusted they would adhere to the rule.

“The remaining rules are as follows,” Ed continued. “If you are asked to stop, if someone goes limp, or if someone loses consciousness, the fight’s over. No shoes, shirts, jewelry, or weapons. Only two people to a fight and only one fight at a time. And finally…” He paused and looked pointedly at Amanda. “We are an equal opportunity club. Anyone’s continued presence here is their way of giving consent.” He turned his attention to the men. “If anyone here has a problem with that, now is the time to leave.”

They waited silently for a moment, Amanda suddenly aware of all the eyes now on her. A couple of men shook their heads and stepped out of the circle, making their way back up the stairs. The rest stayed and after giving them another minute to decide if that was what they wanted, Ed nodded and gave the signal.

Amanda stepped back with Manson, watching as he knelt down to untie his shoes while the other men began removing any prohibited items they had on them. “Are you really going to fight?” she asked, beginning to kick her shoes off.

“We’re newbies,” he pointed out, pulling off his hoodie and t-shirt to set aside with his shoes. “We have to fight.”

Amanda grinned, still feeling a bit nervous, then pulled off her shirt. There came a few cat calls from across the room, but Ed gave a loud clap, shouting out, “Gentlemen!” in a scolding tone. They fell silent once again and Manson gathered both of their piles to set them somewhere safe. And then it began.

Two men opened the first fight, one of them new, the other a longtime member. Amanda watched with excitement and the fists began to fly, bodies crashing into each other and eventually working their way to the ground. As Amanda attempted to move for a closer look, Ed tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.

“You may want this,” he said handing her a roll of bandaging. “To bind your chest,” he explained, giving her bra a meaningful glance. “That underwire could do some damage if it pops loose.”

“Good call,” she said, taking the bandage from him. She stepped away from the circle, looking for a corner to duck around for a hint of privacy and Manson followed her, keeping his back turned to her as he stood guard. “Here,” he called back to her, tossing a hair tie from his pocket. “Tie your hair back too.” A few minutes later she emerged in time to hear the first fight come to an end as she tossed her bra with the rest of the clothes she had discarded.

“Hold up,” Manson said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He slipped two fingers under the bandaging, testing the feel on her back and checking her side as well. “Don’t want it too tight,” he explained. “Last thing you need is to suffocate.”

“I did it right,” she insisted, though truth be told she had no idea. Binding her chest in a musty basement while a group of men were taking turns beating each other senseless in front of each other was not exactly part of her weekly routine. When they rejoined the group, the two men who had been fighting, stumbled back out into the circle, one of them with a bloody face, the other nursing a set of raw knuckles.

“Next!” Ed called. A short, wiry looking man took a step forward and nodded in Amanda’s direction.

“I want the girl,” he said with a smirk. Ed turned his head to Amanda who felt her adrenaline spike. She stood motionless for a moment, hearing her heart pound in her ears, then took a step forward with a nod.

“Bring it on,” she replied, giving her knuckles a crack. She did not look back at Manson for reassurance, but moved into the center, shaking hands with the challenger before taking their positions. Ed raised his hand in the air, waited a few breathless seconds, then brought it down in a signal to begin. Amanda and the challenger began to shuffle from side to side, circling each other while the crowd waited, eager to see who would throw the first blow.

Feeling like her body would explode from all the anxiety and adrenaline surging through her veins, Amanda finally made the first move, lunging forward while anticipating the man to duck to the side. As soon as his body moved to the left, she twisted right and took a swing, her fist making contact with his shoulder. Scattered shouts surrounded them and the man lunged at her, delivering a blow between her shoulderblades, hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Amanda stumbled forward, nearly falling to the floor, but when she heard the footsteps behind her, she veered to the side and righted herself so fast her head spun.

The man was upright quickly and moved faster than she could counter. Hooking his arm around her neck, he forced her up against a pillar, knocking her head hard enough she saw stars. The idea of calling for him to stop crossed her mind, but something snapped awake inside her and before she knew it, she was slamming her fist into his stomach, making the man let out a wheeze and his grip loosen enough for her to slip free. Sliding around him, she took hold of his hair and jerked him towards the ground. The man crumpled easily, his breath still knocked out from her punch, and she climbed over top of him, raising her fist and bringing it down on the side of his face. The cheering intensified and she raised her fist again, delivering another blow to his jaw.

Out of nowhere, a set of knuckles met with her mouth and she was stunned enough to be knocked backwards, the challenger now having her pinned. She felt the first blow against her temple, blood already filling her mouth from her freshly split lip. By the time the second one landed, her head began to spin and she could feel her body screaming at her to stop. But she ignored it, wanting just a little bit more.

Moving without thinking, she jerked her head upwards smashing her forehead into his chin, and the man gave a cough as he lost his grip on her. She wriggled underneath him, managing to throw a few punches into his side, just below his ribs, but eventually he took hold of her shoulders and slammed her body hard against the concrete, her skull practically bouncing off the ground.

Unable to form words, she raised a hand up and hoped it was enough of a signal. The man immediately climbed off of her, allowing her to sit up and spit out a mouthful of blood.

“Stop,” she finally sputtered, a feeling of shame and embarrassment filling her as she knew her ass had been handed to her. But the feeling vanished when there came the sounds of clapping and cheers, the group clearly feeling she had put in a solid effort despite the outcome. The man who had challenged her, rose to his feet and offered a hand to her, helping to pull her up to her feet.

“All right! Next round!” Ed shouted, and Amanda stumbled back to the circle while the men decided who was next. A clean handkerchief was tossed to her by one of them and she pressed it to her raw lip, glancing up at Manson from the corner of her eye.

“I can’t believe you pulled his hair,” the singer teased and she attempted a smile, grimacing in pain when her lip burned in protest.

“Shuh uhp,” she groaned, her words muffled by the increasingly crimson handkerchief.

It only took her two more rounds of watching before her energy returned enough to join the crowd in cheering on the fighters. Her head was throbbing, her lip was on fire, but she had never felt more alive. The energy in that darkened pit reminded her of what it was like to stand in the audience of one of Manson’s shows, the excitement just as high and contagious. Soon she barely was able to remember she’d just taken a beating, though there was the occasional sting of pain to remind her.

Unaware of how much time had passed, Ed finally turned his eyes to Manson and gave him a knowing look. “You’re not gonna stand there all night, buddy. You’re up.” Manson gave a nod and Amanda noticed how the environment changed entirely the minute he took his place in the center. There was no doubt in her mind the majority knew exactly who he was and they seemed even more hesitant to challenge him than they had with her.

A part of her wanted to challenge him herself, and were enough of her consciousness not telling her that was an incredibly stupid idea, she would have done it. Instead Ed took a step forward as he remained the only one to not have taken a turn yet and the pair shook hands.

 

~*~

> Dear Diary,
> 
> Tonight I got my first black eye and my first stitches. After we both got our turns in a fight, Marilyn and I had to practically support each other on the way back to the hotel but we were both completely wired. My lip was busted open and his eye was swollen shut. If his agent hadn’t spotted us in the shape we were in, we probably would have just called it a night and gone to bed. But he exploded on us so bad we had to agree to go to the hospital to appease him. At first I was scared that he would report us to the police as it looked like we’d just come out of one hell of a domestic dispute, but by the time we were climbing into separate cars I knew we were home free.
> 
> We went to separate hospitals, neither of us wanting anyone to think we’d done it to each other, and I didn’t see any paparazzi stalking us either. I hope no one caught it on camera at least. His name’s been dragged through the mud enough, I don’t want to be the reason it happens again. Thank God we have a day off tomorrow. I think we both need it.
> 
> He was amazing. I know I’ve read somewhere that he has a history of getting into fights, but it was completely different to actually see it. The minute he and Ed lunged at each other, he stopped being the singer/showman I was used to seeing and turned into something primal. Something I’ve not seen much of since his stuff from the 90’s. I know that sounds like I’m romanticizing. Maybe I am. I did take a few blows to the head so my interpretation’s accuracy may be up for debate. Still, he gave Ed a very thorough beating and took some pretty severe blows himself. There was no winner by the end of it. Both of them finally called it quits at the same time. He broke Ed’s nose and Ed nearly shattered his eye socket. Overall, neither of us took any severe damage, just some ugly bruising. And my stitches of course.
> 
> Even though I know tonight was probably one of the dumbest nights of my life… I’m glad he came through. I’ve never experienced anything like that and I’m glad I did it. I feel like something’s waking up in me, some part of me that I’ve been ignoring all my life that finally needs to come free. It’s exciting. And scary.
> 
> I guess we’ll see how it all feels in the morning.

~*~


	8. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had way too much fun writing that last chapter. Think I had some aggression I just needed to get out. Also wanted to share that my toddler has taken to referring to Manson as “The Scawey Man.” I was showing the video of his accident in NY to my partner, and my kid happened to see it over my shoulder and says, “Scawey man got squashed.” Yes he did, kiddo. Yes he did.

Drinking coffee, even luke warm coffee that was bordering on cold, proved to be a challenge with a freshly stitched lip. Amanda cursed as drops drizzled down her chin, staining her shirt, and she only spilled more when a knock at the door caused her to jump.

“Fuck. Come in!” she called, only to grunt in pain and lightly press her hand to her tender lip. She had left the door slightly ajar for the sole reason of not needing to get up and answer it, her whole body feeling like it had been hit by a truck, and as it opened she exchanged a weary look with the battered singer as he slipped inside. She took note of the large framed sunglasses he was now sporting and he approached her with a soft drink in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other which he held up and gave a shake.

“Your bill came,” he informed her. “Or rather, a bill for Bettie H. Holmes was faxed to the hotel for my agent to see,” he corrected, smirking at her. “Saw the assholes just gave you ibuprofen so I brought something better.” He tossed the bottle at her and she read the label while he carefully took a seat beside her on the bed. A groan of pain escaped his lips as his body settled down on the mattress and she gave a silent nod of agreement at the sound.

“Oxycodone?” she asked.

“Trust me, you’ll feel better,” he assured her. She twisted off the cap, pouring the recommended dose in her hand and downed it with another messy sip of her coffee.

“Ah!” she gasped, resisting the urge to massage her lip, and turned her head to take a closer look at Manson. It had been too dark for her to fully see his condition the previous night, but now that they were in broad daylight, she could see the deep blue and purple peeking out from underneath his frames. She reached up, gently pulling them off, and her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Holy shit…” she whispered. “Can you even open it?”

“Swelling’s gone down since last night,” he muttered. “How’s the lip?”

“Hurts like a bitch. Been attempting to drink this stupid coffee for an hour and I think I’m wearing more of it than I’m actually consuming.” Manson stuffed the pill bottle back in his pocket, then pulled the straw from his cup and handed it to her.

“Here, use this,” he said. She popped the top off of her cup and slipped the straw inside, taking an experimental sip to see if it helped. The pain in her lip still roared in outrage, but the liquid managed to stay in her mouth.

“So… are we in trouble?”

He shook his head slowly, his hand reaching back to massage his stiff neck. “My agent bitched this morning but he’ll get over it. Other than that, we’re in the clear.”

“Thank god,” she sighed with relief. “Last night was fucking amazing and all… but if I’d gotten you in trouble I’d never forgive myself.” Manson watched her silently for a moment, the pried the lid off his drink so he could take a swallow. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “If I had known you were going to pull through on my crazy idea…”

“Do you regret it?” he cut her off, giving her a meaningful look while he crushed an ice cube between his teeth.

“What?” she asked, lazily turning her head to look him in the eye.

“Do you regret it?” he repeated, holding her gaze. “The truth.”

She regretted putting his reputation at further risk, not that it was exactly stellar to begin with, but somehow she knew that’s not what he meant. “No,” she answered. “I don’t regret it.”

“Then don’t fucking apologize,” he murmured.

A few hours later, the band loaded themselves back up on the tour bus again and they began the drive to Buffalo. Amanda knew they would have the day to themselves once they arrived. The drive was bound to take between six and seven hours, which gave her enough time to get some much needed sleep. The oxy in her system made her body feel warm and light, and her mood was elevated several notches. It all suddenly made sense to her why people became addicted to the drug. She slipped into a deep slumber, much like slipping into a warm bath, and she remained dead to the world in a dreamless sleep for the entire drive.

Unlike her rude awakening the last time, she stirred to the feel of a warm hand softly jostling her shoulder. “Hey,” whispered a low voice, and she opened her eyes slowly to see Manson’s sunglasses looking back at her. The pain in her face had already begun to return and her head felt less fuzzy as the remnants of sleep began to wear off.

“We’re here?” she muttered, tucking her hair way from her face.

“Just got to the hotel,” he answered. “But I want to brace you… there’s a lot of cameras out there.”

Her eyes squeezed shut as she cursed under her breath and, gradually, she brought herself to sit upright, her body making her more and more aware of the pain it was in. Manson was wearing a hooded sweatshirt again, more than likely to better hide his bruised eye, and it made her suddenly self-conscious about her own face.

“Got an extra pair of shades? And maybe a scarf?” she asked. He nodded, moving out of the way so she could climb out of the bunk while he fetched what she needed. Once she wrapped the scarf around her neck and over her mouth, she added the sunglasses and a hoodie of her own. Her long hair and the hood helped to hide enough of her face, and given the colder weather outside, she knew there would be nothing suspicious about her attire.

They stepped out of the bus, the both of them keeping their heads down and marching through the storm of flashing lights and shouted questions. If there was ever any doubt that anyone had caught her picture while she traveled with the band, this removed it quite thoroughly. And unlike the last times, they were not at a venue, watching her lugging equipment with the band like a roadie. They were seeing a woman, albeit a heavily covered woman, step off the tour bus with the band this time and she kept that thought at the forefront of her mind. She kept her head down and her gaze off Manson until they were past the hotel entrance and safe inside the elevator.

“Got anymore of those pills?” she grumbled as they made their ascent. Something rattled its way out of his pocket, and the bottle was in her hands once again. She dry swallowed another dose and passed him back the bottle. Gil offered her a bottle of water and she took several greedy mouthfuls, realizing only in that moment just how thirsty she was.

“Jesus,” the drummer muttered as he looked them over. “What the hell did you guys do last night?”

Though it was not intentional, the pair answered in unison, “Can’t talk about it.”

“Just make sure you find a way to cover that up by tomorrow night’s show,” the guitarist muttered, Amanda unable to help noticing the annoyance in his tone. “Or those fucking leeches out there will start a controversy. Especially if they see  _her_  in that state,” he added, nodding his head in her direction.

“Let me worry about that,” Manson replied, a hint of warning in his voice.

Amanda let out a sigh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “If anyone asks… I kicked his ass,” she muttered.

There was silence lasting long enough to make her think no one found her words amusing, but as the elevator reached the top, Gil glanced back at her and replied, “Whatever you say, Kenny.”

They couldn’t see it under the scarf and hood, but she gave a half smile anyway at the joke before stepping out of the elevator. Manson handed her a room key and followed her to her door while the others went off to their own rooms. “We were talking dinner plans while you were out cold,” he said while she opened the door. “Feel like getting something to eat?”

“Fuck no,” she answered him, stepping inside and marching straight to her curtains, pulling them shut as she did not trust someone with a camera to not find her there.

“If you’re worried about the press…” Manson offered but she waved him off.

“It’s not them. I just really want to lie in bed and not move for a while.” He gave her a gentle smile of understanding, then closed the door behind him. “I wasn’t expecting it to be like that out there,” she admitted, drawing back her hood and carefully removing the scarf, afraid it would snag itself on her stitches. Pulling off her sunglasses, she squinted as her eyes adjusted, then moved to turn on a few lights.

“Every city’s different,” he agreed, removing his own sunglasses. “You should be ready though. They’ll definitely have noticed you entering the hotel with us.”

“They didn’t see my face. I’m not worried.” She stripped out of her hoodie, then pulled her backpack up to the bed, opening it to fish out a pair of pajama shorts and a clean t-shirt, not seeing the need for her jeans anymore. “Aren’t you meeting up with the others?” she asked while she pulled off her shirt, turning her back to him to remove her bra.

He took notice how the dynamic between them had changed enough that she felt comfortable dressing in front of him but the need to hold on to some modesty still remained. Part of him wondered if that was for her benefit or his.

“Given the circumstances, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he said at length, his eyes wandering to the ugly bruise between her shoulderblades where her challenger had managed to land his first blow. The hit had been harder than it seemed, he realized, judging by the size and deep coloring under her skin. “Even if you did supposedly kick my ass,” he added in jest.

She gave a light snort, pulling her clean shirt on then turning to face him while she shimmied out of her jeans and into her shorts. “We can order room service,” she offered. “Or… I mean you can. I don’t know if you’re staying here or going back to your room.”

She regarded the clothes in her hands, seeming to debate as to whether or not she felt like folding them, but ultimately dropped them to the floor along with her backpack before crawling onto the bed and collapsing on her back. He glanced around, silently making a decision, then shed off his heavy coat to hang on the hook on her door. When he knelt down to remove his boots, his eyes wandered back up to her. “No tattoos?”

“Hmm?” she hummed, replaying the question in her head. “Oh. No. Never had the extra cash for it. And my parents would have thrown a fit.” The mattress sank beside her and she rolled onto her side, propping her head up to look at him better. “I noticed a few of yours last night.”

As if on cue, he tugged up his sleeves, allowing her a better look at his arms, and she lightly traced her fingers over the linework as she studied them closer. “Ever thought of getting one of your own?” he asked her after a moment.

“I’ve had a few ideas,” she murmured, her fingers still tracing the skin. Her eyelids were beginning to blink lazily, making him realize the pain meds were already kicking in. “Song lyrics mostly.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno… mostly Flogging Molly songs or some of your stuff. Just random lines that I like, not entire songs.” She relaxed back into her pillow, tucking an arm behind her head while the other draped over her side. “I also love Celtic knotwork. Celtic art in general really… Especially the music.” Her voice droned off dreamily and she smiled while her eyes seemed to wander off to another place entirely. “I don’t know why, but Celtic folk music always make me feel… homesick. Homesick for a place I’ve never been. It’s like this beautiful ache in my chest. I love it.”

He rolled onto his side, his body mimicking her position as he watched her wandering eyes. “Maybe you should add Ireland to your list,” he offered.

“Like I have a passport,” she snickered.

“You can get one,” he pressed. Her eyes met his and nuzzled at her pillow, the rest of her body shifting to get more comfortable.

“You’d take me to Ireland?” she asked, disbelief in her voice though she felt she should know better by now.

“Add it to your list,” he answered. “Right next to getting a tattoo.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but after several seconds passed, she appeared to have nothing to say and she closed it again, rubbing at the side of her face that was not tender. Contrary to her diary entry, the previous night had not necessarily left her with a black eye, but one of the blows to her temple had left a dark patch of black and blue that ended just near her eye. The pain from that was already fading and she began to recognize the warmth spreading through her blood.

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” she sighed, looking to him for help.

“I’ll get us some coffee then,” he answered, turning to the phone.

“Make mine iced. With an espresso shot.”


	9. Beauty from Pain

“Okay, here’s what I have so far…” Amanda handed her diary over to Manson, taking another swig of her coffee while he scanned over this list they had begun to compile together. The combined effect of opioids and caffeine had put her in a far better mood, and the conversation regarding her bucket list had yet to die down despite the late hour.

“Tattoo…” he read quietly to himself. “Piercings?” He looked up at her, noticing she only had two small scars, one on each earlobe.

“I got my ears done when I was sixteen,” she explained. “But I fucked up and had them done with titanium studs instead of gold, like you’re supposed to? They looked better and they said ‘hypo-allergenic.’” She took another sip, barely feeling the pain in her lip anymore. “So you can imagine my surprise when I ended up being allergic to them. My earlobes swelled up, there was pus… We thought it was an infection at first, but it turned out to be an allergy.”

“Ugh,” he chuckled, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Anyways I never tried again so… I’d like to get them redone.”

“Just your ears?” he asked.

“Think I could pull off an eyebrow?”

He smiled at the question and gave her an honest shrug. “I think you could pull off whatever the fuck you want to do, which is what this should be about.” His eyes returned to her list, scanning over the next few items. “You forgot Ireland,” he pointed out.

“No I didn’t,” she answered, reaching across to turn the page. “I made it it’s own subcategory. There’s a lot I want to do in Ireland.” He continued to read, his lips moving to form silent words until he smirked and pointed to one item in particular. “What the fuck is this?” he inquired. Amanda craned her head to see, then smiled at herself with a sheepish look in her eyes.

“Run down a corridor in a flowing dress…” she read aloud. She nervously tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear as she mustered up the courage to look him in the eye and explain her own silliness. “You know, like in movies? There’s sometimes that scene with the princess or whatever wearing a large flowing ballgown and something intense happens and there’s a shot of them running as fast as they can down a stone corridor with their skirts just billowing around them…” Her voice trailed off as she grew more embarrassed by her own description, then she gave him a playful smack as he chuckled at her. “I’ve always wanted to do that. Don’t judge.”

“I wasn’t judging,” he laughed. “That’s just fucking random is all.” He finished reading her list, then gave her a nod of approval. “You’ve got a good start here. I think we’re missing something though…” He held out his hand, gesturing towards her pen, and she handed it over with a questioning glance. He turned the page back to her general list, scribbled something at the bottom, then handed the diary back to her while giving his addition a tap.

When she realized he was not about to read it aloud to her, she picked up the book to see for herself. Her smile faded and she did not look up.

_Call parents._

In a swift movement that startled him, she snatched the pen back from his hand and scribbled over the two words until they were hidden in a storm of angry black lines. His brow furrowed and she slammed the book shut, tossing it aside as she continued to refuse to look at him.

“Amanda…”

She rose from the bed, moving to her crumpled jeans on the floor, and furiously dug through the pockets until she found her pack of cigarettes. When she headed out the door to the patio, he rose from the bed with a frown and followed her outside. The night air was considerably colder than the last few nights, and though she was shivering in her pajama shorts and t-shirt, she made no move to return inside for a coat or anything to help keep her warm.

Manson watched her in silence as she puffed away the first half of her cigarette in a matter of minutes, then he approached her slowly, unsure what to expect when he opened his mouth. “My parents are dead,” he told her, knowing full well she probably already knew that. “And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from it, it’s that there’s never enough time. It’s gone before you know it and I would give anything to have more time.” He waited, allowing her to respond if she felt like it. When she did not, he lowered his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t want you to make a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Because I know for a fact you will regret it.”

Her shoulders tensed, her head dropping for a moment as a sigh escaped her, and she turned to face him, tears of anger in her eyes. “You… don’t fucking know anything,” she whispered, her tone laced with poison. “You have no idea how fucking lucky you were. That Christian school for only a few years? The occasional church visit? Not having to grow up with indoctrination?” Her voice wavered and she looked away from him, taking a shaky drag from the cigarette between her fingers. “You didn’t have to grow up… suffocating in it. But I did.” She twisted around to toss the glowing butt over the edge, then looked back at him with a hard sniff.

_She was sitting in her bed, receiving a goodnight kiss as her mother adjusted the covers around her. As she adjusted her pillow to how she liked it, her mother paused in the doorway, then turned back to look at her. “Honey, can I ask you something personal?”_

_“What is it?” she asked, not sure what to make of the woman’s tone._

_Her mother paused for a moment, then asked with a sympathetic look, “I just wanted to ask you how you feel your walk with God is going?”_

_Immediately, she felt guilt and fear wash over her. She knew she should be reading her Bible more, but she had always failed to have an interest. She knew she should be praying more, but she never remembered to do it. She knew her every thought should be focused on God, but she had school and homework and friends…_

_She was supposed to be a perfect ‘child of God’ but she could only feel her own failure at her mother’s question._

_“It’s okay… I think,” she answered, unwilling to voice any of her doubts out of shame. “Why?”_

_Her mother sighed, then folded her arms over her chest. “Okay. I just wanted to be sure,” she replied, turning to leave._

_“Why?” She was sitting upright now, her anxiety growing more unbearable by the second._

_Her mother seemed hesitant, but at length she answered, “Because lately… I’ve been afraid that there’s a wall between you and God.”_

_Whatever else took place in that conversation, she would not remember. All she would know was how much fear and dread the statement planted in her mind._

_She was six._

Manson said nothing, but the grim look in his eyes said enough. Amanda angrily drew out another cigarette, wiping her face carelessly as her rage only grew. “You had nightmares about the end of the world? I had nightmares I was going to Hell,” she spat. “All the fucking time. And that wasn’t even the first or last time something like that happened.”

_She was nine and sitting at the dinner table. Her mother was describing her interpretation of the Bible when it came to the End Times. She was listing off signs and warnings already happening around them, describing an era of tribulation that would soon come where Christians would be tortured and massacred before the second coming and the rapture. She spoke as if she was certain it would happen in the next few weeks. Amanda left the table, unable to eat anything, then curled in the far corner of her room and wept._

_She was ten and sobbing as her mother took away her favorite computer game. Monster Lab. It was an educational game where the main characters were monsters, and the concept had already caused her to start imagining the fun of living in an actual underground lab filled with friendly monsters. “You’re obsessed,” her mother stated in disapproval. “Vampires, zombies, werewolves… Who do you think you’re glorifying when you immerse yourself in those things? Because it isn’t God.” And just like that, sorrow was replaced with fear._

_She was twelve and arguing with her father. A friend had invited her to the movies, but it was a Sunday afternoon. “Today is a day of rest!” her father shouted at her in frustration. “You know we don’t go out on Sundays because God wanted it to be the one day of the week we don’t work. Making other people work on a Sunday is just as wrong.”_

_“But they’re already working! It’s not going to change just because I bought a movie ticket! None of this makes sense and it’s not fair!” she shouted back. “I just want to be with my friends!”_

_“You know what the Bible says about this!” he argued, his temper rising to a dangerous level. “We are not having this conversation. You don’t go hang out with friends on Sundays. It’s just one day in the week. If you have a problem with that, then maybe you should take it up with God because right now I think you need a serious change of heart!” Guilt replaced outrage and soon turned to fear and anxiety. Was her heart really turning from God? What did that mean for her and was it too late?_

_She was fourteen and crying on her bed. Her mother had stopped her from buying a book she had wanted in the store because the plot revolved around witchcraft. She had tried to explain it was purely fiction and that the very idea that it would inspire her to turn to wicca was ridiculous, but her mother had argued that her life was already on a slippery slope without inviting in more darkness, and without thinking, she had taken off, trying to run away from it all. She was caught and after dealing with mall security, she was taken home. Her father sat down on her bed, giving her a mournful look. When he opened his mouth, his words made her sick. “Lately… I’m beginning to question whether or not you’re really a Christian. Because you don’t act like someone who is saved.”_

_She was fifteen and sitting in front of a therapist…_

Amanda’s jaw clenched and she lowered her gaze, unwilling to finish that thought, but she had said more than enough. She inhaled with a shaky sob and two tears escaped her eyes. “I was scared. All the time. Moments like that… they weren’t just occasional occurrences. This was happening to me daily. My whole life, my loves, my interests, all of it was always scrutinized and interpreted to be something bad. I always felt something was wrong with me because everyone around me… they all followed it so perfectly. They all  _wanted_  to read the Bible. They all  _wanted_  to pray every day, multiple times a day. They never needed to be reminded to do any of that. It was just second nature and they loved it.”

“I strongly doubt they really were that perfect about it,” Manson commented softly.

“Maybe, but that’s how it felt. I was always never doing it right. I was never good enough,” she whispered weakly. “And it wasn’t just the feeling of not measuring up, it was the constant threat I was going to go to Hell because I couldn’t measure up.” She brushed at the tears on her cheeks, then gestured to her arms at something he could not see in the dim light. “I started cutting myself when I was eleven. It was the only way I knew how to deal with it. I wasn't living up to God's expectations so of course I couldn't turn there for help. Of course my parents flipped when they found out. Just gave them another tool in the guilt-trip arsenal. I used to think of killing myself all the time. Especially as it got worse...” Her voice broke and she hung her head, pressing her hand to her mouth, no longer caring about her stitches. “I figured… I’m already going to Hell… so... might as well,” she wept.

“Fuck…” the singer whispered, completely at a loss for words.

“I still have nightmares,” she choked, swallowing hard as she struggled to regain control of her voice. “I gave up God and religion, and I don’t regret that. I’m not even convinced there’s an afterlife. I don’t see the point in it. But I still have nightmares of going to Hell. And it’s not a lake of fire or a never ending torture chamber. It’s not even Dante’s Inferno.” A look of genuine fear filled her eyes as she finally held his gaze. “It’s a black abyss that stretches forever. No floor, no ceiling, no walls, just… black. There’s no sound. No smell. No feel. No sight. And there’s no one. There’s nothing. Not a single voice or face anywhere. It’s endless and it’s eternal.” She was trembling, but not with cold. “An eternity of nothingness. I can’t think of anything worse than that. I’d rather have physical torture or deafening screams or monsters… but nothingness… no one...”

He stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders to calm her as her shaking grew worse, and she folded into him, whimpering muffled apologies into his chest as her emotions got the better of her. Strong arms wrapped around her and held her tightly, hands massaging her back and running through her hair. He said nothing but held on to her, wanting nothing more than to give her a true feeling of safety.

Nearly an hour later and they were back in the room, sitting on the bed while her fingers traced aimlessly over the leather binding of her diary. “I don’t hate them,” she said softly, looking up at him with puffy eyes. “I want to. But I don’t. They probably have no idea what growing up with them was like. They only did what they truly believed was right. It was never out of spite or for the sake of being malicious.” She shook her head, unable to shed anymore tears though he could see the pain was barely even tapped. “I just know if I ever tried to explain any of it to them… they wouldn’t listen. It would all be my fault somehow. My… misinterpretation or my selfish godlessness… And I’m afraid I’d believe them. And then I’d be sucked right back up into all of it again...”

Manson took in her words, having barely spoken any of his own but knowing that was fine. In fact, he knew that was exactly what she needed. Every thought that left her lips was something that needed to come out and he sat patiently, letting her draw it all out in the open.

“I miss them…” she confessed in a broken voice. “I just don’t know how… I don’t know if I can…” She struggled for a moment but eventually gave up trying to complete the thought, hugging her legs tightly to her chest. “They would never understand my life now. Actually, they’d take it as a personal hit which is even worse.”

“Do you regret your life now?” he asked her, looking into her eyes. She stared back at him, then shook her head.

“I wouldn’t trade anything I’ve been through over the past year for anything. Especially these past few days with you.” She offered him a sad smile as she sniffled one last time. “As far as reasons for going to Hell… I’d say this one’s worth it.”

His eyes lowered for a moment, then he reached forward, taking her face in his hands, wanting to be sure his words fully reached her. “You are not going to Hell, Amanda.” Her body stiffened slightly under his touch, but he held her firm. “You will not go to Hell.” She took in a deep shuddering breath, but he could see in her eyes she had heard him.

They hardly spoke the rest of the night, resigning themselves to television as the evening had drained them both, and when he caught the faint sounds of her soft snoring beside him, he covered her in the bedsheets and retired to his own room for the night.

 

~*~

 

> Dear Diary,
> 
> He gave me hope. And I love him for it.

~*~


	10. Breaking

“Are you ready?”

Amanda gripped down on the shock rocker’s hand and gave a nod, a smile of mischief on her face. “I’m ready. I can do this.”

There came a loud buzzing sound and when the first sting met her skin, she sucked in a nervous breath between her teeth while he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. Her other arm lay propped up as a pair of latex gloved hands worked the needle as it injected black ink into her flesh. Manson had helped her pick out exactly what her first tattoo should be, and as she watched the tattoo artist work, her pain became less and less noticeable in exchange for her own curiosity.

“Told you it’s not that bad,” he said, feeling her grip on his hand grow lax.

“You will be tender for a little while,” the artist spoke up over the sound of his needle. “And it will peel like a bad sunburn, so be ready for that.”

Amanda said nothing but continued to watch the man work. There came a few notable moments of pain, but it always passed whether or not she had to crush Manson’s hand through it. Before she knew it, it was over and he was preparing a bandage for her. “Keep the bandage on for a couple hours. When you take it off, clean it with warm water and a little soap. Fragrance free. You’re going to want to clean it at least twice a day for the next two to four weeks. And make sure you apply a thin layer of moisturizer so the skin stays healthy.” He paused, then glanced over at Manson, who’s heavily tattooed arms were mostly visible due to the t-shirt he was wearing. “If you have any questions, I’m pretty sure he can answer them. He’s done this enough times.”

“I’ve got her covered,” he replied with a smirk before turning his attention back to her. “So, what do you think?”

Amanda took one last look at her new tattoo before it was covered over in a bandage. The decision had been one long conversation on a hotel room bed in which designs and song lyrics were tossed back and forth until at last the singer said something that stuck with her. “If this is your first, it should symbolize your rebellion. You’ve broken out of a life to start over again and as of now, you’re done apologizing for it.” With that, he held up his sketch for her to see.

_**I’M NOT SORRY** _

“It’s perfect,” she said, flinching a little as the bandage was patted into place over her raw skin.

They were in Boston, having just finished yet another show in the tour the night before, and unlike the past week and a half, they now had a few days to relax before migrating south for a show in New Orleans. “We’re going to make it in time for Mardi Gras,” Amanda noted as they stopped for coffee. “I’ve always wanted to go to that.”

“We’re making it happen,” he replied with a smile, grabbing both their drinks and picking an outdoor table for them to sit.

“You say that like you planned it,” she chuckled. “We all know your agent worked out the schedule.”

“Phsh!” he scoffed, passing her the creamer and sugar packets before she could ask. “We both know I had my influence on the scheduling.”

“Humble as always,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “I could practically make up an entire bucket list just for that area.”

“Oh?”

“Mardi Gras, eating real cajun food…”

“You can eat gator there.”

“Fuck yes, I’m trying gator,” she chuckled. “Oh! And I have to go on a tour of Delphine LaLaurie’s house!”

He enjoyed her enthusiasm and nodded his head in approval. “We should throw a Girls Gone Wild party at the LaLaurie mansion,” he offered in a tone that made her not entirely convinced he was kidding. “Ghosts, tits, booze, torture attics, wet t-shirt contests…”

“Lawsuits, jail…” she finished for him, raising an eyebrow. “Neither of those last two are on my bucket list so let’s take a pass.”

“You have ‘train heist’ on your bucket list,” he reminded her.

“I was running on oxy and caffeine when we worked on that! That was just me fucking around,” she cried, waving it off. “Besides, who hasn’t wanted to pull off a train heist at least once in their lifetime?”

“Can’t exactly argue with that… But it’s still on your list.”

“As a joke,” she replied with a snort. The singer shot her a knowing look and her brow furrowed. “Right? We agreed it was a joke, right?” When he rose from his seat and began to walk his way back to the hotel, she jumped to her feet, careful not to spill coffee down her hand as she jogged to catch up to him. “Dammit, Marilyn! Tell me you’re joking!” The only answer she received was a fiendish cackle that did nothing to quell her fears.

Back on the bus, she sat on her bunk, holding her arm out while Manson gently coated her fresh tattoo in ointment. “I’ve always found this stuff works best,” he stated as he took care not to agitate it too much.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she murmured, taking a look at his eye. For the first couple of shows after their adventures in fight club, he had worn his makeup extra heavy and dark, hiding the bruising that remained when the swelling went down. So far, no one seemed to have noticed as there was yet to be a tabloid exploiting his battered face. There had been a few articles already, speculating on the ‘mystery woman’ tagging along on the bus, but those had managed to miss her face as well.

“Your eye looks a lot better,” she said to him as she absentmindedly chewed on her lip where the stitches had been removed only days ago.

“It feels a lot better,” he agreed. “Fuck I’m getting old. I used to be able to take a pounding better than that.” Amanda smirked at the double entendre shook her head.

“Well, that’s disappointing to hear,” she joked and he raised his shaved eyebrows at her.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked suddenly, receiving a surprised look in response. “It’s just, after all the stuff you’ve told me about growing up, how strictly religious your environment was, I gotta wonder…”

“I cashed in my v-card at twenty-one,” she answered. “Right before I finally moved out of my parents’ house.”

“So you were still living at home?”

“Not for long after that.” He was finished with her arm and she pulled down her sleeve with a yawn. “I’ve bored you with enough of my sob stories,” she mused, adjusting herself on her side to prop her head up with her pillow.

“They’re not boring,” he replied, leaning back against the wall. “They’re depressing as fuck, but they’re not boring.” He watched her settle into the mattress, her eyelids already heavy after having stayed up the better half of the night. Before she could drift off he spoke again as another thought came to his mind. “Speaking of stories… that diary of yours?”

Her eyes opened and she looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“When this is all over and we part ways… you should think about publishing it.” She gave him a funny look but his gaze remained serious. “I think you have a story that needs to be told.” She did not respond to him but gave a sleepy nod, closing her eyes once more.

Deep in her stomach, she felt a knot begin to form. While the end still seemed a long way down the road, it was not something she wanted to think about. Story or no story.

It was not until late in the night that the sounds of a TV in the background drew her out of sleep. She blinked slowly in the darkness, taking notice of the occasional street lamp passing by her window and giving her faint glimpses of her reflection. Behind her, she heard Gil and Paul laughing at whatever was playing on the TV, and she shifted to her back to slowly stretch her arms and legs. A dark shape on her other side caught her attention, and she turned her head to find Manson’s sleeping form laying right next to her. Had he dozed off around the same time she did? She wondered about it but only for a few seconds, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of him.

She rolled on her side to face him, readjusting herself into her pillow, and studied what little she could see of his features. Eventually he stirred softly, taking in a sharp breath as his eyes squeezed tightly shut before opening slowly to meet her gaze. In that moment, warmth turned into ache as she found herself wanting the courage to scoot closer to him, to caress his face, to kiss him…

She found herself wishing he would reach out and touch her.

“Guys!” shouted Gil’s voice from the couch, calling her back to reality. Manson remained still, his eyes still focused on her, but he too was forced to acknowledge his bandmates when the privacy curtain behind him was jerked open, causing the pair to jump.

“What the fuck?” he groaned in annoyance, twisting around quickly to snap at the drummer. “Jesus! What?!”

“Guys,” Gil said, his eyes wide as he looked between the two of them. Amanda read his expression and felt her stomach drop as she sat up.

“What? What is it?” she asked.

“Get in here. You gotta come see this. Now.” He withdrew to the TV, and after exchanging a concerned look with her, Manson sat up as well, climbing out of the bunk before extending a hand to help her down. They shuffled their way over to the screen and Paul sat with the remote in his hand, turning up the volume while Gil scooted over to make room for the both of them. They were tuned into a news station where an anchorwoman sat in position with the ominous “Breaking,” banner glowing beneath her.

“We’re bringing you the details as they arrive in this… bizarre story that’s coming in to us now from Rochester, New York…”

“Oh no…” Amanda whispered, her face going pale enough to make Manson uneasy.

“Recently, the infamous band, Marilyn Manson, has made a few headlines and speculation during their current tour to promote their new album, Heaven Upside Down. The band has been sighted multiple times with an unknown woman in their presence that many had originally speculated to be one of the crew members or possibly someone involved romantically with one of the members of the band. However, only a few hours ago, a family reached out from the city of Rochester, identifying the woman as Amanda Brekker, their 29-year-old daughter who has been allegedly missing for over a year. Though no missing person’s report was ever filed, the parents claim she separated herself from them on less than amicable terms, disappeared from her apartment in East Rochester, and that they have been unable to establish contact with her since that time.”

Amanda was trembling, feeling the eyes of the band on her, and her heart began to crash loudly in her chest, making it almost impossible to hear any more.

“Sources traced Brekker’s last known residence to Denver, Colorado where she worked as an employee for a small business, only to resign under unknown circumstances. Since then, Brekker has been consistently spotted touring with the band though her involvement is still unclear.”

Photographs flashed of her, showing her disembarking from the bus, hustling into hotels with her head down and her hood drawn, and even a few of her following the band backstage.

“Jesus Christ,” Paul swore out loud. “What the fuck is this?”

“Today,” the anchorwoman continued. “Amanda’s parents have issued a statement they’ve requested to be shared on every available channel in hopes that it reaches their daughter. So Amanda, if you’re watching tonight, this is for you.”

Amanda felt sick, her stomach twisting and turning and her anxiety driving needles into the back of her neck. Her breathing grew shaky and her head began to spin as her parents came into view. They were sitting together in some studio, the pain on their faces almost too much for her to bear, and a lump began to form in her throat.

“Ever since… our daughter broke contact with us…” her mother began, tears swimming in her eyes. “We’ve been at a complete loss. Not knowing where she is… if she’s okay… has been our worst nightmare. And we don’t understand why she chose to run away like she did.” Her mother’s voice broke and her father spoke up as he gave his wife’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Amanda, if you’re watching this… Please call us. Please contact us in some way,” he pleaded into the camera. Her father was never the sort to cry and even now she could tell he would not, but that did not make his pain any less visible. “We miss you and we love you. We know you were having a hard time but we don’t want to be shut out of it. You’re our daughter and we love you. We will always love you.”

“Please, Amanda,” her mother cried, pressing a tissue under her eyes. “We just want our daughter back.”

Manson felt like a knife had been twisted in his stomach. The heartache on her parents’ faces was far too real and their pleading words caused a wave of guilt to move through him. He had not been the one to make her leave for Denver in the first place. He had not been the one telling her to break off all contact with her family. All of that had been her decision and hers alone. But he had been encouraging her need to break free from her old life, and seeing the cost of that decision was not something he was prepared to handle.

A shallow gasp broke his worried thinking and his head jerked in Amanda’s direction, watching as she grasped at her chest with hands that shook violently. “Amanda?”

Her breathing came harder and faster, tears falling like rain down her face, and her nails pressed into her sternum as she gripped down over her heart. Her body curled into itself and she fell from the couch to the floor, her gasps for breath growing louder and more frightening. “Oh shit!” Gil shouted, springing to his feet. “Mandy, breathe!”

“Amanda!” Manson shouted, kneeling down beside her and pushing her hair out of her face. He tried to call her attention to him, but she was inconsolable, her breathing only growing worse until he became afraid something was seriously wrong.

“Pull over and call 911!” he called out, and Paul was on his feet, relaying the message to the driver while Gil whipped out his cell phone and started dialing. Manson gripped down on Amanda’s arm, trying to calm her as the world around her began to spin into blackness.


	11. Who You Are

“We ran some tests to be safe, but everything indicates it was just an anxiety attack. A severe one, but nothing more.”

Amanda listened carefully as the doctor spoke at her bedside, her chart in his hands which he scribbled on occasionally. Her head felt very foggy and her body was completely drained of energy. Part of her felt like she had just been dragged by a truck, and the other part wished she had never woken up, wanting to just fall back to sleep.

When she had regained consciousness, she opened her eyes to the sterile white walls and white enamel of a hospital. Her clothes had been traded out for a scratchy hospital gown, and the bed she lay upon was incredibly uncomfortable. But what she had noticed more than anything was the emptiness of the room. Manson was not there. None of them were there. She was alone with no one but the doctor.

“How are you feeling now, Miss Brekker?” the man in the white coat asked, taking a quick look at her vitals as they flashed on the monitor.

“Tired,” she answered, the very word seeming to drain her further.

“That’s to be expected,” the doctor replied with a frown. “We can give you something if you’ve got a headache or a sedative to help you get some rest.”

“My head’s fine,” she answered, though that was not entirely true. There was a dull throb but nothing that truly bothered her. “My chest… it felt like it was caving in. Like something was crushing it. And I couldn’t breathe…”

The doctor nodded as if nothing she said surprised him and it irritated her. “Have you ever had an anxiety attack like that before?” he asked. She shook her head. “A lot of what you’re describing is very common. Anxiety may be known as a mental condition but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause a fair amount of strain on the rest of the body. Especially the heart. Chest pains, shortness of breath, dizziness are all common. I know they can be scary in the moment, but they do happen.” He paused for a moment, then tucked her chart under his arm and slipped his pen back into his pocket. “Your friends who brought you, they said your episode was triggered by something you saw on the TV?”

Amanda swallowed over the lump in her throat. “It’s complicated,” she replied.

“Well… if you feel the need to talk about it, you do know you have doctor patient confidentiality…” His tone indicated he was one of the many who had seen her name in the news and that put a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“I appreciate that,” she murmured, looking away from him. “But I’m fine. Really.” Though he did not seem convinced, the doctor nodded and took one more look at her blood pressure. “My friends…” she asked, her eyes wandering to the empty chairs ahead of her. “...did they leave?”

“Two of them said they were making reservations in a nearby hotel, and the third went to the cafeteria for some coffee,” he answered, making her spirits lift a little. “I’ve already told them that I would like to suggest you stay through the night for observation. Just to make sure this was a singular episode and not indicative of something more. However, you’ve been stable for the past two hours so it’s your call.”

As he spoke, her eyes were drawn to a tall dark form approaching in the doorway, and the doctor looked over his shoulder to see Manson standing there with a coffee cup in his hands. “I’ll let you think it over,” he told Amanda, and with that he took his leave, allowing the two of them to be alone.

Manson closed the door quietly behind him, then moved to take a seat in the chair by her bedside. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke,” he said gently. “I was on the phone with my agent when the nurse told me you were awake.”

“It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just… embarrassed you even have to be here.”

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah well… I am. I freaked out and it’s my fault we had to detour here. I’m sure your agent was pleased with that.” She was struggling to look at him and hung her head, allowing her hair to create a curtain that cut him from her line of vision.

“Don’t worry about him,” Manson assured her.

She bit at her lower lip, one of her arms loosely wrapping around herself to run her nails over her upper arm. “Is he mad about the attention I’ve drawn to the band?”

There was a hesitant pause, but that was enough to answer her question, regardless of what the singer had to say. “Don’t worry about that right now,” he whispered.

“You don’t need this,” she whispered, her voice growing weak. “My problems are mine. They never should have been tied to you or the band. And now that my parents…” She stopped, her jaw clenching as tears stung her eyes. “This was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he pressed back.

“Yes, it was. This tour is supposed to be about you and your album. Your work. And now everyone’s going to be talking about the fucking trainwreck who tagged along…”

“And so what if they fucking are?” he asked, his tone suddenly turning dark as an intensity filled his eyes. “So what if you’ve taken the spotlight for a minute? You told me yourself the day I met you that you knew this was going to be hard. And you know what? I saw a woman that day who was ready to take on whatever challenges her new road would throw at her. I saw that woman and I believed her, even if her plan was pretty fucking crazy. So if you’re going to tell me now that you are no longer that woman, then I’ll be really fucking disappointed in you because that’s not the person you set out to be.”

She sat speechless, her nails stopping their movements and his words sinking in only to repeat themselves over and over again.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel like the whole fucking world is questioning the person you’re turning out to be? Guess what, babe, I’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you have and under a lot worse scrutiny.”

Her eyes finally met his and her brow furrowed as a tear rolled down her cheek. “So… you’re telling me to just suck it up?”

“No,” he answered firmly. “I’m telling you to keep fighting. I’m telling you to deal with the struggles as they come and grow from it.” He paused, watching her face for a moment, trying to gauge if his words really were sinking in. Softening his tone, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “I didn’t do any of this because I felt bad for you. I did it because I saw someone strong. Someone who was ready to transform but needed someone to believe in her along the way.”

Her tears stopped and her breathing grew more even. For a moment, he felt as though he could see her backbone returning, pushing away the broken girl who had been sitting in the bed when he had first stepped into the room. “I will continue to believe in you, Amanda,” he said, his eyes remaining locked on hers. “But only if you’re still that person.”

She stared back into his eyes, appearing to search for the right words. Then the corner of her mouth turned upwards, and she raised her arm, presenting her ink in response. “ _I’M NOT SORRY._ ”

“There she is…” Manson whispered, his smile returning.

An hour later, Amanda signed her discharge papers and climbed into a car with the singer, riding back with him to the hotel. Daylight was beginning to break, and as she stepped into the parking lot, she caught a glimpse of the sunrise as it painted the sky in bright oranges, yellows, and pinks. She could already feel the warmth on her skin, despite the chill in the early morning air, and she closed her eyes, imagining the light engulfing her in a refining fire.

Manson waited, watching her as she had her moment of serenity, not daring to break her out of it after the night they had endured. She needed this.

When she finally turned to him, he extended a hand to her and she took it with a firm grip, walking with him into the hotel. “We didn’t know if you’d be discharged early or not, so we didn’t get a room for you,” he said, turning to the hotel desk. “Just give me a sec and I’ll get one set up for you.”

He felt his hand tug as the body behind him had stopped walking, and he came to a halt, turning back to look at her. There was something in her eyes, the same determination and bravery he had seen in them the morning he parted ways with her well over a year ago. The same look that told him somehow she would find her way.

He read her gaze. And then he changed directions.

Unlike the last several hotel stays, there had been no luxury suites set aside for any of them, but rather whatever rooms had been available at the last minute. None of that mattered. The moment they crossed the threshold, he heard the sound of Amanda’s hand forcing the door shut and his arms were around her as her fingers tangled into his hair. The first kiss was like oxygen, her body rising as though he breathed life into her, and his lips greedily forced hers apart. His tongue plunged into her warm cavern, swiftly finding hers and he felt her nails begin to dig into his scalp, sending a jolt of electricity right through his core.

For several long moments, they stood devouring each other, their lips aggressively capturing and recapturing each other and their tongues fighting for dominance. When he sucked down hard at her tongue and grazed his teeth over the soft flesh, she let out a pleasured gasp and moved her hands from his hair to his sides. His shirt began to bunch under her fingers as she drew it upwards, and his teeth moved to her neck, biting her none too gently. Her nails slipped under the back of his shirt to drag over his back and he groaned into her skin, his erection already straining hard enough to press and throb against her stomach.

She broke free from his grasp, tugging off her shirt to toss to the floor. He grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her against him with a strength that caught her off guard while simultaneously wrapping her legs around him. His mouth continued its assault on her neck, his nails digging into her back and her hips rolled into him, her fingers grasping at his hair again. He listened to her breathing, basking in its ragged heat and the traces of moaning that began to rattle in the back of her throat.

Only needing to take a few steps to cross the gap, he threw her down on the bed, climbing over her as he stared down at her with wanton lust. He began to unbutton his shirt and she sat upright, kissing and grazing her teeth over his skin as he exposed it to her. Her tongue traced over his scars, her fingers tugged at his belt, her body writhed beneath him with impatience. He grinned at it all, shrugging off his shirt and reaching down to undo her pants.

Her hips raised off the bed as he tugged her jeans and panties off at the same time, and without warning, his face dove between her thighs, bringing another delicious gasp from her lips. She felt his tongue slither its way over her slit, circling the already engorged bundle of nerves that throbbed for him, and she cried out in pleasure, unable to keep her eyes open. When his fingers plunged into her, her spine curved upwards off the mattress and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Manson watched her closely, savoring every way her body moved in response to his ministrations, and when his fingers curved upwards, finding the exact right spot, he grinned at the way her arms shot up above her head and her nails dug into the headboard.

“Oh god!” she cried out, throwing her head back and continuing to moan out in ecstasy. His tongue and his fingers worked in unison, bringing her all the way to the edge, only to stop the moment he began to feel her cunt pulsing around his touch. She let out a gasp of shock at the sudden absence of sensation, but when she looked up, he was undoing his belt and tugging down his pants, his hardened member springing free.

And then he was covering her again, his lips hungrily closing down on hers while his hands aggressively tugged down her bra. The front clasp sprung free and he gripped her breasts, moving his hips to allow his cock to tease over her dripping sex. “Please!” she growled over his lips, moving her hips in a desperate attempt to sheathe him inside of her. “Please!” she begged again, feral desire ringing in her voice.

He drew his hips back and drove himself forward, feeling her tight wet walls stretch and engulf him as they groaned out in unison. Her legs wrapping around him to draw him closer and he began to thrust into her, grunting heatedly when her nails raked down his back and kissing her harder when her hips began to buck into his to match his fury. The mattress beneath them creaked and shook, and the headboard crashed against the wall. The sounds of their bodies slapping together echoed off the walls and his hands gripped her wherever they could reach, crushing her body into his. He hammered himself into her, hard and deep, feeling the pressure building deep in his core as her walls gave the warning spasms that heralded her release.

“Brian!” she screamed out, throwing her head back and bucking herself wildly into him. Her walls clenched down over his shaft, then began to pulse and throb as his cock was bathed in her orgasm. He continued to thrust into her sensitive flesh, feeding off her moans and cries until at last he gave out a loud groan and let himself spill into her.

“Fuck!” he gasped, his head swimming with ecstasy and adrenaline. He continued to pump his hips until he had ridden every last ounce of his release and she continued to gasp for air with every movement. He collapsed over top of her, boneless with pleasure and panting against her neck as his heart struggled to control its pace. Her arms wrapped around him, her palms massaging where her nails had left him raw, and he pressed tender kisses along her jawline, nipping at her chin for a moment, then coming down once more on her lips. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly and tenderly, his body shuddering as he carefully drew back out of her.

“Brian,” she breathed against his lips, finding it difficult to stop kissing him nor to stop touching him as if she needed the sensation to prove it was all real.

“Amanda,” he whispered back, giving her one last tender kiss before rolling onto his back and drawing her into his arms. He cradled her head against his chest, running her fingers through her now unruly hair, and drew a blanket over their naked bodies. No further words passed between them. As the day continued to break, he lay still as he allowed her to drift to sleep in his arms, grateful she would get a couple hours at least before it was time to hit the road again.


	12. Nothing Changes

Manson was not sure when he dozed off, but when he woke, the sun was in his eyes and he groaned in annoyance, turning his head to the side in an attempt to avoid it. Beside him, the bed was empty but a note lay on the empty pillow. His brow furrowed, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach as he reached for it. Part of him knew he would probably deserve to wake like this. He had done it to enough girls in the past that it was only a matter of time before it happened to him. But if Amanda had taken off on him…

Holding the note closer to his face, he squinted to read her writing.

_Had to make a run to the drug store. Be back in a few._

Relief sank in and he gave a light smile, rubbing his eyes as he went on to read the rest.

_PS- Things are getting a little too chummy so I froze your underwear while you slept._

“The fuck?” he snorted as he sat upright with a grunt, unable to help chuckling at the afterthought. Drawing back the sheets, he rose from his bed and wandered to the mini freezer at the other end of the room to inspect. When he opened the door his eyes widened.

“Every fucking pair?!”

When Amanda returned, she found the three band members gathered in the lounge, taking advantage of the breakfast buffet with their plates piled high. Gil was the first to notice her and gave her a wave that caught the attention of the others. “There she is!” he called to her. “In her triumphant return!”

“Jesus Christ, girl!” Paul greeted, getting to his feet to give her a hug. “You scared the shit out of all of us last night.” Amanda gave an embarrassed smile and hugged him back, giving his back a friendly pat. “Glad you’re looking better today.”

“Thanks, Paul,” she sighed, stepping back and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry you guys. I know that’s not how you wanted to spend the night.”

Gil waved her off and shook her head. “It’s just not a full tour until one of us lands in the hospital for some reason,” he joked. “For real though, how are you feeling?”

“A little worse for wear…?” Paul asked, giving the dark marks on her neck a teasing look.

She smirked at him and gave a shrug, moving to the table they had chosen and taking a seat across from Manson, who had been watching her with a silent smile, grateful to see the others welcome her so warmly after the previous night. None of them had spoken much about what had transpired and he was not sure how they would feel about having her around now. Thankfully, his agent seemed to be the only one who took issue with it, and the man was not there to voice it which was even better as far as he was concerned.

“What’s in the bag?” Manson asked as he offered her a muffin from his plate. A small grocery bag sat in Amanda’s lap and she fished around inside, the sounds of a box opening and packaging being torn catching his attention.

“A pill,” she answered, shooting him a knowing look. Gil slipped behind her and stole a peek, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I know that pill,” he chuckled.

“I’m sure you do,” Amanda replied, popping it in her mouth and grabbing the coffee cup next to her to wash it down.

“Better safe than sorry,” Paul stated and Amanda nodded in agreement as she settled back in her chair. If either the drummer or guitarist had any further questions, they did not ask them, being surprisingly merciful given the potential teasing they could have given her.

An hour later, they were packed and on the bus once more, Amanda writing away in her journal while the others helped map out a route that would make up for lost time. The subject of her parents was left alone for the time being, a mutual agreement seeming to rest between all of them that she would handle it when she was ready. The fact that any of the previous night’s events had escaped the press was nothing shy of a miracle.

A couple hours after the bus began to move again, Amanda felt the mattress bend beside her, and watched as Manson pulled himself in, drawing the privacy curtain behind him. She scooted over to give him more room and he handed her a bottle of gingerale from the fridge. “One of my exes used to say the morning after pill made her nauseated, so I thought you might want this.”

“Thanks,” she sighed, resting her back against the wall of the bus as she took a sip. “Haven’t felt nauseous, but I am feeling a tad bitchy. I swear if those assholes don’t start chewing with their mouth shut, someone’s getting disemboweled.”

Manson smirked and gave her leg a warm pat. “How about we just aim for only one hospital trip this tour, okay?” She nodded in agreement and closed her diary, tucking it under her pillow before adjusting herself to better face him.

“About last night…” Her voice trailed off, indicating she was unsure how to finish her sentence. He reached over, taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze.

“I think everyone was running on exhaustion and emotion,” he murmured.

“So if I said… not that it was meaningless but that I don’t… I’m not sure I want…” She stumbled over her words, feeling like there was no way of explaining her thought process without sounding cold or calloused. Neither emotion matched what she felt, but romance would have been inaccurate as well. If it had been any other person, their actions the night before would have easily been shrugged off by her as a one night stand. But this somehow felt more complicated. After everything he had done for her, even the moments she could sense her feelings changing about him, it made it all feel more complicated.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said with a tone of understanding. “We both needed it, and I’m glad it happened. There’s no reason it needs to get complicated.”

She looked up to him, reading his eyes to be sure he was telling the truth. With a soft smile, she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a warm embrace. “Nothing changes?” she asked.

“Nothing changes,” he answered, rubbing her back. When he released her, he looked her in the eye, his tone growing more serious. “There is one thing I do need you to start thinking about.”

“For the last time, the train heist was a joke,” she groaned.

“Filth and lies, and also not what I was talking about.” She snorted and even he could not help cracking a grin. “I need you to start thinking about how you want to address your parents’ statement to the press. I’ll help you come up with something if you need me to, but they’ve effectively made it so ignoring them is no longer an option.” His smile faded as he hesitated to say what he needed to next. “My agent is threatening to quit if we don’t and I can’t lose another one while we’re in the middle of a tour.”

Amanda felt her heart sink but she took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Okay. Tell me what my options are. You’re going to know how to do this better than I will.”


	13. Mardi Gras

“Mardi Greeeee.... Mardi Groooo… Mardi Graaaah… Mardi Gra-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha… Mardi Greeee… Mardi Graaaaaas… Let’s whip those titties ooouuut!!!”

Amanda giggled to herself as she listened to the men belt out their own debauched version of The Happy Wanderer from the hotel hall, feeling that it set the tone for their evening quite perfectly. After a full night and the better part of the day on the road, they were all ready to conquer Bourbon Street in a fashion that, if done right, they would more than likely be unable to remember in the morning. This would be their last night of freedom before yet another performance, and while she still had to prepare herself for whatever move she would make to address the attention her parents had drawn on her, Manson had made her swear she would allow herself to enjoy one stress free night. She was more than happy to agree to it.

There came a knock at her door and she pulled it open for Manson to walk in with a large paper grocery bag in his hands. “Oh god…” she chuckled, not knowing what to expect as he set it down on the bed so he could dig around inside.

“Oh yes, we’re gonna do this right,” he announced, turning his head to wink at her. “I’ve got our beads, booze… a little something so beads can be earned without landing one of us in jail…” He pulled out a package and held it up for her to see.

“Pasties?!” she cried, starting to worry about what she had gotten herself into. “I’m not wearing those.”

He gave her a funny look. “Who the fuck said they were for you?” he scoffed, opening the packaging and holding them up over his shirt.

“Nice… You know, tassels would have been a fitting touch.” He tossed them on the bed, ignoring her sarcasm, and fished around in the paper bag once more, pulling out a case of makeup and lipsticks which she eyed curiously.

“Have a seat,” he instructed with a grin. “We’re going to make you into a Mardi Gras queen.”

As he set to work on her, she sat with her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of various powders and liquid liners being applied with care over her eyelids and around her cheeks. He barely spoke as he worked on her and for a moment she wondered if this was what it felt like to be one of his canvases.

_As long as he doesn’t get any of that absinthe crap near me…_

He blew over her eyelids, making sure everything was dry, then applied some lipstick for a final touch. “Okay, have a look,” he said, and she opened her eyes very slowly, afraid to ruin his hard work.

Her lids had been outlined with thick black eyeliner that swooped upwards, just past her eyebrows in a cat-like manner as well as traced out the contour at the upper ridge. The lids themselves had a layer of bright red shadow with a dusting of glitter, and between the contour and her eyebrow, he had carefully painted a diamond pattern with gold and more glitter, using red to make the background. Small rhinestones accented the lower lids as well as the connecting corners of the gold diamonds beneath her eyebrows and long black fake lashes made up the finishing touch. Her lips had been painted a deep black and looking at her reflection made her feel like a gothic harlequin.

“Aren’t green, purple, and gold the traditional colors?” she asked, unable to hide the awe on her face at his handiwork despite her question.

“I like this better. And you’ve got the gold part at least,” he replied with a prideful smile. “Now come on. Let’s get you dressed.”

Bourbon Street was a storm of excitement and chaos. As darkness descended, cultural appreciation began to blur with the usual drunken celebration Amanda was used to seeing in the media. That did not detract from the experience for her in the slightest. As she made her way down the busy street, her arm locked around Manson’s to avoid losing him, there was an added bounce in her step as the music filled her ears and the energy of the people around her seemed to penetrate her soul. She had worked her hair into a tangle of curls, tying it into a high ponytail off the side of her head and decorating it with over-sized feathers Manson had purchased for her, along with a black and gold diamond, strapless blouse and fingerless black laced gloves. While he had been bold enough to guess her blouse size, the singer had known better than to attempt to guess her waistline, so she wore a pair of her own black slacks, pleased with how well they actually fit with the rest of her attire.

Manson himself was dressed in his usual head to toe black, but always in his own style. He wore a long black trench coat that hung open to reveal a set of black star-shaped pasties covering his nipples and a leather corset that covered his waist. A large top hat sat on his head with two festive feathers attached to it, one purple and one green, and a black mask covered the upper half of his face. And of course, around his neck hung a mess of Mardi Gras beads. Paul and Gil were lost somewhere in the crowd, the both of them already fairly intoxicated having started their drinking before hitting the streets, but Amanda had resolved to keep her head clear for at least a couple hours before indulging, wanting at least some part of the night to be hers to remember.

As they approached the heart of the celebration, Manson found a spot on the balcony of a two story bar where they could watch the parade floats pass by. Each one of them was blasting their own music while adorned in bright flashing lights. She shamelessly danced along with the crowd, feeling herself growing overcome with a sense of freedom and careless abandon while the singer beside her was preoccupied, leaning over the edge to toss out beads to the women and men below who were willing to flash him.

“Let’s see those motherfucking titties!” he shouted out, receiving cheers and drunken cries in return, and she could not help laughing as one by one, tops were tugged upwards, revealing a wide array of nipple pasties of various shapes and styles.

“This is amazing!” she shouted over the crowd, and he flashed her a bright smile, jiggling his beads at her as an invitation. She rolled her eyes in return with a smirk and he gave her a shrug, disappearing inside to fetch them the first of many drinks.

A few hours later, they managed to stumble upon Paul and Gil, both of which had managed to capture women of their own, and the six of them found their way to a spot where the music played its loudest and the people were free to dance in the streets. Her head spun like a whirlwind with excitement and alcohol, and as the night progressed, she managed to keep her promise, forgetting the strain of the previous days and choosing to enjoy herself.

Sometimes, she was learning, enjoyment was the ultimate, “Fuck you.”

By the time they began to stagger their way to calling it a night, Gil had lifted Amanda on his shoulders, carrying her up to the street while loudly announcing, “Make way for the God of Fuck and the Queen of Mardi Gras!” Given her lack of beads and overall underappreciation for the culture inspiring the celebration in the first place, she knew she hardly came close to fitting the description, but she was too drunk and ecstatic to care. The night had been every bit as fun as she hoped it would be and the smile never faded from her face.

The harsh light of day, was a different story.

The sound of vomiting drew her to the waking world, and as she lifted her head, she discovered she had passed out on the floor of the hotel room at some point in the night. She was wearing Manson’s trench coat and a newly acquired g-string, her own blouse and pants nowhere to be found. A black star pastie clung to her forehead and she’d be damned if she had any idea how or when it got there. She barely had time to take notice of anything else as a roaring headache crashed through her sinuses and the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom made her own stomach turn on her.

“Oh god!” she gasped, dragging herself to the wastebin before hurling loudly. When her stomach was empty, she collapsed to the floor again, rolling onto her back and shielding her eyes from the sunlight breaking into the room. “I’m dying!” she groaned out. From the bathroom, the toilet flushed and heavy footfalls followed, coming to a stop as Manson propped himself against the doorframe, barely able to open his eyes. He was in his boxers and a black robe, bright red lipstick smeared across his face (she had no idea where it came from and was willing to bet he did not either), and a feather sticking out of his hair.

“Is this death?” she whined out to him. “This feels like death. I’m dying and now I’m dead…”

“Fucking kill me…” he droned, taking a few steps before dropping on the floor beside her. “Everything smells like fucking puke.”

“Don’t look in the trash,” she muttered.

“At least you made it to the trash this time.” She rolled her head lazily in his direction and his body slumped from its sitting position until he was lying down next to her, pressing a hand over his eyes. “Speaking of which… you probably owe a few pedestrians an apology. You puked from the balcony last night.”

“Fuck…” She lifted her head slightly, her pounding migraine begging her to reconsider, and her eyes wandered over her changed attire. “What happened to my blouse?”

“Mmmff… Tree,” he grunted.

“And my pants?”

“Other tree.”

She felt around her waist and raised an eyebrow. “And… the g-string?”

“Mine.”

She closed her eyes, not having the capacity to question his answers any further, and she rolled onto her side as she felt her stomach begin to complain again. “Does that mean we fucked?” she asked bluntly. The singer groaned and slowly shook his head in response.

“You attempted a strip tease… to one of my songs… on the balcony...” he answered at length. “But then you threw up over the edge and the moment kinda died.”

“Oh lord…” She covered her face at the thought.

“If it helps… we wouldn’t have anyway,” Manson continued after a moment. “You were way too drunk.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. “God… how are you even going to do your show tonight?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’ve gone out in worse shape. I got this.” As if in disagreement, his body suddenly began to heave and he had just enough time to roll away from her before throwing up all over the floor.

“Ugh yuck!”

“Urrrgh… Oh god... is that gumbo?”

For the first time since traveling with the band, she was left alone for most of the day, allowing her to recover in misery. Manson had taken to his own room to do whatever he needed to fight off his hangover, and though she felt like death that morning, as evening began to roll by, her symptoms faded to a minor headache and some leftover queasiness. By the time Manson finally knocked on her door, she had been sitting upright for over an hour, chewing on ice chips while hard at work in her journal.

“How we feeling?” he asked her as she let him in.

“Not great, but not terrible,” she replied. “You?”

“Feeling like tonight’s going to suck,” he admitted with a half smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve had that much to drink.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that much to drink,” she snorted. “I don’t even remember what I drank…” She twisted towards her bed and picked up her diary, opening it to the page she had been writing on before he interrupted her. “I want you to take a look at what I’ve been working on. Tell me if it’s any good.”

He gave her a curious look, but when she offered no further explanation, he took a seat on the bed and began to read to himself quietly. Amanda watched his features closely, trying to predict his response, but he was completely unreadable. When he finished, he looked up to her and gave her a sincere nod. “It’s good,” he stated. “I think this is exactly what you need to say.”

“Really?” she asked. “You think it says enough?”

“I think it says what you need it to,” he confirmed.

“Okay,” she replied, taking a slow breath to steady herself for what she had to say next. “Then I want to say it at the show tonight.” At this, he looked up at her in surprise, but she spoke before he could ask any questions. “I know we talked about setting up an interview or a press release of our own… but this just feels right. I mean I found the strength to start my life over at a Manson concert. It just seems fitting I should find the strength to tell the truth at one.” She waited, allowing him to insert any objections he may have, but when he said nothing, she continued. “And… the beauty of it is it will force my parents to have to see even a part of one of your shows.” She smirked at him, trying to make light of the situation though the gravity of it had not escaped her in the slightest.

“I like your thought process,” he said at last, offering her a half smile. “If that’s really what you want, then I’ll make sure it happens.”


	14. Alone But Not Alone

“The beautiful people! The beautiful people!”

With a final shriek of the closing lyrics, the lights dropped on the stage and the entire auditorium went black. The transition was disorienting to Amanda as she froze in her place backstage, afraid if she moved now she would bump into something. How the band managed to find their way to the back without knocking everything over was beyond her, but when she felt a hand on her shoulder, she knew Manson was beside her before he even began to speak into her ear.

“I give the signal… the lights go up… and you go on.” His tone hinted that he was checking for her approval rather than giving her instructions. He was giving her a chance to back out. She could only guess he could hear her heart hammering in her chest from where he stood. That or he could feel her shaking under his touch.

“There’s a lot of people out there…” she said, feeling like an idiot as the words left her lips.

“I know,” he answered, understanding in his voice. “Can you do this?”

Amanda took a steadying breath, then nodded her head in a shaky motion. “Give the signal. I’m not walking out there in the dark.”

When the stage lights went up, the crowd roared back into life, expecting another encore. Their excitement made her tremble with every step, but as she came into view, the audience’s enthusiasm began to quiet back down, a select few still chanting Manson’s name in hopes of drawing him out.

Then the camera projected her face on the two screens at either side of the stage, and sounds of recognition began to erupt around her.

“AMANDA!!!” she heard someone shout. Others soon joined in, cheering out her name and waving at her, though she was not entirely sure what they were cheering about. None of them had any idea what her real story was let alone what she was there to say. But they cheered anyways, and it was enough to give her the strength to clear her throat into the microphone.

From backstage, Manson watched in silence, his heart pounding for her at the sight of her facing the stage alone. He had considered taking the walk with her, but this was her moment. Her story. No matter what part he played in it, she needed this moment. So he silently encouraged her as he watched her approach the microphone. A roadie hustled onto the stage, adjusting the height for her, and after giving her a thumbs up, he scurried back to where he came from, making her give an awkward chuckle.

“Uh… hi.” Her voice wavered a bit from nerves and she took a hard swallow, portions of the audience using the moment to cheer her name even more. Deciding not to wait for the audience to quiet down for her, she unfolded the torn diary page in her hand and began to read from it.

“My name is Amanda Brekker, and most of you probably know me from what’s been on the news lately.” The auditorium began to finally quiet down and she continued, trying to keep her eyes on the many shadowed faces rather than just on her paper. “Because of all the speculation, along with the statement my parents made a few days ago, I’ve asked Marilyn Manson for a chance to use his stage to address all of it, and the band was kind enough to agree.” The crowd gave out a cheer for Manson and she smiled, offering a look back in his direction though she could not see him from where she stood.

“If my parents are watching, this message is for you.” She held up the paper in her hands to read aloud:

_“Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Over a year ago, my life was completely different. I lived in a better apartment, had a better paying job, and more significantly, I was surrounded by the love and encouragement of a family and their social circle whom I loved as well. I had all the support I could ever want or hope for… as long as I held the same beliefs that they did.”_

She paused, licking her lower lip nervously before continuing.

_“Then one day, I saw something that made me realize it could be different. I was wasting time on the internet and, I don’t honestly remember what sort of search I was doing that led me to it, but I eventually found myself watching an old video of an old interview on an old show I’d never even heard of.”_

She gave a stifled laugh, seeing a few amused smiles in the front row, and she went on, needing to refer to her sheet less and less.

_“On that show, there was a band. And they were dressed in strange and kinda scary clothing. One of them didn’t even have eyebrows…”_

At this there came a knowing laugh through the crowd and she smiled.

_“Anyways, the audience was criticising them mercilessly, but then one of the band members said something that... that just made me stop.”_

She drew a slow breath.

_“He said that when society teaches parents to make their kids feel guilty for not adhering to their Christian ideals or values… you’re going to have angry kids. He said those words, and there were people in that audience that booed him. But for the first time in my life… I was hearing a voice that got it.”_

There was a lump in her throat, but she swallowed it down so she could keep going.

_“I loved my family, I still do. And I loved the people in my life. But I wasn’t happy. I hadn’t been happy for a very long time. I’d been living so much to make others happy I’d practically forgotten that I even existed._

_“So this man had my attention enough to make me look up more of what he had to say. And the more I found, the more I felt that there was finally a voice out there saying the things I was too scared to even think about or admit that I felt. He talked about individuality and freedom. He talked about being true to yourself and to not let the judgments of others dictate who you are. He talked about doing everything I had not been allowing myself to do and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. So a little over a year ago, I made the scariest decision of my life. I quit my job, I left my apartment with barely anything, and while it may have been stupid at the time, I used almost all the money I had just to see him perform in concert. I knew I was about to create a new start… and it seemed the right place to start.”_

She paused again, her smile growing and her eyes sparkling with tears.

_“And then something happened that I didn’t expect. The man who had inspired me to turn my life upside down in order to finally make it MY life… saw me smoking alone in an alley after the show… and after hearing only a little of my story, he paid for a hotel room for me so I’d be someplace warm for the night. He said, ‘Consider this a helping hand to your new beginning.’”_

The crowd burst with applause and cheers, some of them crying out Manson’s name and Amanda gave a choked laugh as she dried her eyes, waiting for them to quiet down once more.

_“After that night, we parted ways. There were nights I spent on the streets or in homeless shelters. but I eventually worked my way into a steady job, a roof over my head… and once I heard he was on tour again, I had to go see him. Just to show him I’d done it. And that night, when he finally saw me after the show and realized who I was, he offered me a second helping hand and invited me to come on tour and do all the things I’ve always been so afraid or unable to do. I knew I was never going to get another opportunity like that, so I turned in my two-weeks notice and I’ve been riding along ever since._

_“So for those wondering, I am not a groupie or a crew or staff member. I’m just… home.”_

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned her head, her eyes meeting with Manson’s warm smile as he stood beside her in support. Behind him, she saw Paul and Gil approaching as well, joining her at either side. Their combined presence seemed to prove her point and the audience roared in support, loudly applauding the four of them.

She took a deep breath and read the last of her letter.

_“For those I have hurt with my sudden and rash decision making, I am sorry. For those confused and scared for me, don’t be. I’m on a journey that’s been long overdue, and I’m fortunate enough to be taking it with the one who inspired me to take the first step.”_

On the drive back to the hotel, Amanda sat with her head resting on Manson’s shoulder while Gil was at her other side, rubbing her shoulder. Her arm reached across the drummers lap and her hand held on to Paul’s. The four of them sat intertwined in the limo in silence, and she felt in her heart a warmth of serenity and comfort. Though there were still the remnants of her hangover and the hour was late enough she had passed exhaustion a long time ago, she secretly wished the ride would drag out as long as possible, wanting the feeling to last just a little bit longer.

When they got to the hotel, they went their separate ways to their rooms, Amanda exchanging hugs with all of them as they encouraged her before she went inside to change into her pajamas. She had just tied her hair back in a braid when there came a knock at her door, and she opened it to find Manson standing there with his phone in his hand, appearing to have just ended a call. “Hey, got a minute?” he asked in a hushed tone. She stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.

“What’s up?” she asked, taking a seat on her bed to watch him prop himself against a wall while pocketing his phone.

“I just got a call from a local radio show,” he began, folding his arms over his chest. “They’re requesting an interview with the two of us. It would be a chance to answer any questions… dispel any rumours…”

“But we hit the road in the morning?” she asked in confusion.

“I’ve talked it over with my agent,” he explained. “The others can take off in the bus in the morning and we’d just take a flight later. That is if you’re okay with this.” She nodded her head and drew her legs up onto the bed to cross them in front of her. “Far be it from me to try and persuade you…” he continued, a mischievous smirk on his face. “...but it would give us an extra day to go sightseeing. And I seem to remember a certain torture attic you had your heart set on…”

Her eyes widened. “Ugh… don’t tempt me with true crime sites. That’s not fair…” Manson gave a snort of amusement and she shrugged. “Well… I did just face a huge crowd today. So I guess I can do this too.”

“Trust me, this will be much easier,” he assured her. “Fewer people to face, and if you really think about it, the hard part’s already over.”

She smiled softly and nodded at him. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He watched her closely for a few moments, then asked her, “How does it feel?”

She shook her head and answered honestly, “I’m not sure.”

The following morning, after seeing the rest of the band off, they drove out to the radio station where they were set up with headsets and a microphone in front of them. Part of Amanda feared she had just agreed to be interviewed on some sort of shock radio show, but when the DJ turned out to not only be a woman, but greeted her with civility and politeness, her fears faded as she sank into the chair.

“Welcome back, New Orleans on this chilly Thursday morning. Hope you’re all staying warm out there as most of you are probably still sleeping off your hangovers,” the DJ, who was named Lana, began, turning her eyes to Amanda and Manson. “Today I am joined by two very special guests, fresh from delivering what will probably be one of the most talked about concerts this morning. I’m speaking of course of the notorious Marilyn Manson, who has joined us with his friend, Amanda Brekker. Marilyn, Amanda, first of all, welcome and thanks for agreeing to come in.”

“Thanks for having us,” Amanda spoke first with a nervous smile.

“It’s good to be here,” Manson agreed.

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine,” Lana replied. “So that show last night… I know with all the speculation going on currently in the news, a lot of people were wondering if either of you were going to address it, but I think you still managed to surprise us all with how you handled it. Was it planned?”

“It was kind of a last minute thing,” Manson answered. “I mean, after the Brekkers came forward with a statement, we knew we needed to address things somehow, and Amanda actually came up with the idea and the letter.”

“And it was effective,” Lana added, giving Amanda a meaningful look. “It must have been frightening stepping on that stage alone.”

“It was,” Amanda answered. “I uh… Like he said, we kinda came up with the idea at the last minute, and there was a moment right before I went up there I was thinking… ‘Oh God what did I just agree to?’” They shared a chuckle of understanding at her admission.

“But then the way they all just joined you on the stage in support,” the DJ continued. “I mean that had to just feel great? You all seemed united up there.”

“It was a great feeling,” she agreed. “They’ve all been a great support system the last several weeks.”

“Have you spoken to your parents since the show? Or since their statement was issued?”

Amanda hesitated, then shook her head, remembering at the last minute no one would actually see her make the gesture. “No, I haven’t.”

“Really?”

“Really. I just… I’m not there yet, I guess. Last night was the first time I’ve spoken anything to them since I left.”

“That’s really… troubling, I guess might be the right word? I mean forgive the ignorance, but a lot of people are still unclear as to the circumstances that led to your departure.”

“I’ve seen some of the speculation,” she replied, adjusting herself in her seat. “I mean the video’s since been leaked online so a lot of people have seen it. And I’ve seen in the comments… people thinking it was abuse or something like that, but that’s not what it was.”

“What would you say it was then?” Lana asked her, leaning over in her seat to rest her chin on top of her hand.

Amanda thought about the question for a moment, trying to decide on the best answer. “It was frustration, mostly. I was raised in a very religious house, I attended religious schools, I was raised in the church and all of it. I basically spent the better part of my life in this secure religious bubble, shutting me out from everything else and everything I wanted to be. And I just… finally reached a place where I had the courage to step out of it.”

“Had you ever tried before?”

“Not really. I mean, I had moments of rebellion. Everyone does. But the guilt and shame I was always met with just kept me in my place. That’s why I said that I hadn’t been happy for a very long time. It was like trying to be pressed into a mold that just doesn’t fit no matter how hard you try to make it work for everyone else.”

“Sounds like there was a fair bit of manipulation, growing up,” Lana speculated.

“There was,” Amanda admitted. “It’s hard to grow up in that sort of environment and not end up being manipulated. Fear and manipulation are major roles in it, unfortunately.”

“Well, many would call that emotional abuse.”

At this, she cleared her throat uncomfortably and shifted in her seat. “I can’t call it that. I won’t call it that. To me… abuse always has some… vindictive motive behind it. And that was never the case. It wasn't even about control. My parents raised me the way they did because they genuinely believed it was morally right and that it was in my best interest. And that’s something I really feel the need to stress. My parents always only wanted what they thought was best for me, which was why leaving it was so hard and scary.”

“Would you consider yourself religious?”

“No,” she answered a little too quickly. “I’m an atheist.”

“So you believe there’s no God then?”

“That’s not what it actually means,” she clarified, Manson’s eyes turning to her with interest. “Atheism literally means ‘without God.’ It’s not a belief that there is no God, it’s the decision to live without one. I don’t pray, I don’t attend church, I don’t live my life to appease a higher power of any kind. I don’t spend my life worrying about an afterlife that may or may not exist because I consider that a waste of time.”

“Can I just say,” Manson cut in. “That’s one of the first times I’ve heard someone actually explain it correctly?” He chuckled and Amanda gave him an amused smile. “A lot of people get it wrong just like they get Satanism wrong.”

“And you’re a minister in the Church of Satan, aren’t you?” Lana asked, turning to him.

“It’s an honorary title,” Amanda answered with a smirk.

“Exactly,” Manson replied. “It was a title given to me by a friend and a lot of people have made it into something it isn’t. I don’t actually label myself as anything when it comes to religion. But the reason I brought up the comparison, Satanism and Atheism I mean, is because their core principles aren’t very different.”

“Well… Lavey’s version of it at least,” Amanda jumped in. “There are actual Satan worshipers out there, but that’s a different thing entirely.”

“Indeed,” Lana said with a nod of her head. “If I can just steer the conversation a little… I’d like to ask about how it all started? Amanda, you spoke of meeting Marilyn in an alleyway?”

They went on to describe their first encounter, the night at the hotel, Manson even mentioning how he felt after they parted. Then they went on to tell how they found each other again, the party that followed and his invitation to her the next morning.

“What would you say has been the most fun you’ve had on the road together?” Lana asked with a smile.

“Can’t talk about it,” Manson answered and Amanda burst into laughter, knowing the inside joke all too well.

“Mardi Gras,” she answered before Lana could ask him to elaborate. “We went to Bourbon Street the night before the concert and it was so much fun.”

“That place becomes so alive this time of year,” Lana agreed with her.

“The music, the lights…”

“The booze,” Manson added with a smirk.

“So much booze…” Amanda confirmed with a nod, making Lana giggle. “Thankfully not enough to make me forget the night. I had an amazing time and I’m just… so grateful to him and the rest of the band that I’ve had this opportunity.”

“Well, we’re running out of time, so I’ll just close with the most important question… How are you doing now?” She turned her eyes to Amanda who smiled back at her.

“I’m in the best place with my life that I’ve been in for a very long time. I’m happy, I’m safe, and I’m growing, I think.”


	15. A Lesson in True Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should preface this chapter by saying I've never been to the LaLaurie mansion so the layout I've described is made up. The historical museum they later visit is also made up.

"God this place feels creepy," Amanda commented as they slowly made their way through the old house. Manson had managed to cough up enough money and persuade the right people to allow them an early tour before the place was actually open for the day. It was just the two of them and a tour guide who seemed a little too happy with his job. Amanda was unsure if it was because he had a real love of true crime or if getting a chance to do a one on one tour with Marilyn Manson had left him star-struck. He was clearly a fan, of that they were both certain.

"A lot of negative energy probably lurks here," Manson agreed as he looked around, excitement in his eyes.

"Just wait until we get to the attic," the guide informed them with a proud look. "Some people claim they've felt or even caught glimpses of the tortured souls trapped in this house."

"See, this is why the afterlife sucks," Amanda replied, looking at Manson. "They were slaves when they were alive, suffered a horrifying death, and now they get to be trapped here to wallow in it? Fuck that." She caught a look from the tour guide and her cheeks turned red. "Oh sorry, I'm probably not allowed to swear..."

"I think we'll let it slide," the man chuckled. "I don't think you're in the company of anyone who would care."

She nodded in appreciation, but as they continued to walk forward, the singer muttered in her ear, "I'm filing a complaint about you." Amanda smirked at him and made her way to the next portion of the house.

"Delphine Lalaurie was first called under public scrutiny when a young slave girl jumped from the roof of the mansion to avoid being punished when she hit a snag while brushing Lalaurie's hair," Amanda read aloud from a pamphlet she had been given at the start of the tour. "She was caught burying the body and was forced to pay a fine and sell her nine slaves... which her family eventually bought back with no trouble... Jesus."

"There were laws in regards to the treatment of slaves," the guide explained as she looked up from her pamphlet. "Unfortunately they were seldom enforced and it was common for people to look the other way in such instances. That alone should speak to how bad things truly became later in order for it to draw the attention and outrage of a mob." He led them to a kitchen that was roped off but allowed them to still look inside.

"This is where the fire began," he continued. "In 1834, there was a slave chained to the stove inside who was in an extreme state of starvation. Many believe he was the one to start the fire, though no one is sure."

"That would be a horrible way to go..." Amanda muttered and Manson nodded silently.

"Everything's been remodeled, right?" he inquired and the tour guide gave a look of confirmation.

"This mansion has since undergone several renovations and has had several uses, including a public school and a luxury apartment complex. We've since done our best to restore it as closely as possible to its original state before the fire, but you are correct, it has been remodeled."

"Public school?" Amanda asked with eyes wide. "Who the hell thought that was a good idea?"

"It's good real estate, why waste it?" Manson replied with a shrug.

"A public school!" she repeated with feigned outrage.

"Like today's public schools have such light histories?" he pointed out, making her scoff at him and roll her eyes.

They were led to the upper floors, and down a hall the guide stopped to point out a specific portrait of the late Delphine LaLaurie. "This portrait was created sometime after the renovations, before it became open as a tourist attraction. There are many who have claimed it's haunted with LaLaurie's restless spirit. They say her eyes follow you and others have even claimed to have received scratches on their body after staring at it for too long." He gave an ominous pause, then continued forward as the pair took another look at the portrait.

"They do follow you..." Manson noted as he shifted from one side to the other.

"It's an optical illusion," Amanda dismissed, waving him off. He turned to her with a smirk.

"Dare you to touch it."

She raised her eyebrows. "You touch it."

"I'm not the one who believes it's all bullshit. You touch it," he chuckled.

"I'm not touching that."

"Pussy."

She gave him a stern look and with a huff, she slowly extended her fingers to lightly brush against Delphine's cheek.

"Please don't touch the artwork!" snapped the guide's voice from down the hall.

The two recoiled, Amanda quickly stuffing her hand in the pocket of her hoodie, and they both muttered a sheepish, "Yes, sir," as they scurried to catch up.

When they eventually reached the attic, both of their expressions turned grim, neither of them able to make jokes or tease each other as they stood in the heart of where all the horror truly happened. The guide took their silence as an opportunity to continue. "When responders came to help put out the fire, there were some who grew concerned when they didn't see a single slave attempting to escape the mansion, so the story goes. That was enough to lead them to break inside and inspect. When they reached the attic, nothing could prepare them for what they'd find. This was LaLaurie's torture chamber. There were slaves chained along the walls, their bodies showing extensive signs of ongoing torture, decaying corpses... They were covered in bloody welts, kept on the edge of starvation, and wearing iron collars with inward facing spikes."

A large portion of the attic was roped off but they were still allowed enough room to take a few steps inside. Amanda hugged herself as she looked around, unable to help envisioning the atrocities those walls had seen. Yes, much of LaLaurie's tale was based on speculation and the full truth of it would more than likely never come out, but the findings of that night had been fairly well documented. There was even a copy of a newspaper printed at the time on display at the entrance to the attic.

Despite her year of growing skepticism, she could feel a darkness in the room and it settled itself into her spine, making her grow more uncomfortable by the second. She even began to feel ashamed for being so excited to see the mansion in the first place, knowing full well what was said to have happened there.

"You okay?" came a voice, and she stirred as Manson rested a hand on her shoulder. Whatever expression she had on her face, he had clearly read it well, and she shook her head with a sigh.

"Fuck people," she whispered.

He nodded and patted her shoulder softly. "I know. I know."

When they left the house, Manson took hold of her hand and gave a pointed nod to a building down the street. "Before we go back to the hotel, there's one more thing I thought you may like to see," he informed her.

"Okay," she answered, still shaking off the dark feeling that had invaded her in the attic. The building he was taking her to was an old historical museum of New Orleans and its doors had just opened for the day, making them the first inside. Rather than finding a tour guide, he led her directly to a specific display where a handwritten letter lay encased in glass. Though she had already seen the display photos surrounding it and the plaque above the page, her eyes still widened as she leaned in for a closer look.

"Is that really...?" she asked in disbelief.

"It is indeed," Manson answered with a grin. Amanda's smile returned as she leaned in to read a portion of the letter out loud.

_"...Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens (and the worst), for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death._

_Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:_

_I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe..."_

"You know he never made good with that threat," Amanda informed the singer as they made their way back to the hotel. "There was jazz playing in nearly every house and concert halls were even opened to the public where jazz was played all night. But there were people who didn't buy it and one of them even wrote the paper to let him know there'd be a window left open for him so he wouldn't ruin their door. But that night no one died and he just kinda disappeared into legend... what?"

He was giving her a funny sort of smile, making her feel completely self-aware. "Look at the good little Christian girl... showing off her knowledge of serial killers..." he chided and she gave him a nudge.

"I picked Bettie H. Holmes as a fake name," she snickered. "That didn't give you a clue I know a little about this stuff?"

"H. H. Holmes was a good choice," he remarked.

When they reached the hotel, they were headed to the elevator, when a man behind the desk waved for their attention. Or rather, Amanda's. "Miss Brekker?" he called out, causing their heads to turn.

"Yes?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man signalled her forward and after exchanging glances with the singer, she approached the desk, Manson following close behind her. "Some visitors came looking for you," he informed her, making her brow furrow with confusion. "Since you left no instruction for visitors, I did not give them your room number, but they're waiting in the lounge for you. Thought you should know."

She stood silent for a moment, unsure of what to make of that and Manson gave her a wary look. "It could be the press," he murmured to her.

"Did they leave their names?" Amanda asked.

"Corinne and Frank," he answered. "I did not ask for a last name."

He didn't need to. Amanda's face went completely devoid of color and she felt the floor fall out from underneath her.

"Mom... Dad..."


	16. Perspective

“Amanda!”

The singer barked out her name as she stormed her way back out the hotel entrance, afraid she was going to make a run for it. When she turned on her heel to face him, drawing out her cigarettes with shaking hands, he slowed his pace, coming to a stop at a distance that would give her some breathing room. Patiently, he waited while she lit up, taking a nervous drag while beginning to pace in front of him.

“This isn’t happening… This isn’t happening…” she mumbled in disbelief, her words not seeming to go out to anyone in particular. Manson frowned, unsure of what to say to her, not even sure if there was anything that could be said. Her anxiety attack on the bus was still well in his mind and he mostly watched her for signs of another episode, afraid she might collapse on the cement.

“I don’t want this!” she cried, looking at him in terror. “Why did they have to come here? I want to be away from them! I want to be so fucking far away!” Her breathing grew ragged and the hand clutching the cigarette began to shake more violently. That was his cue to step closer and try to calm her.

“Deep breaths,” he urged her in a soothing tone, gently clasping down on her arms. “Deep breaths… Just forget they’re even there for a moment and breathe…”

“I… can’t!” she gasped, her free hand clutching at her chest. It felt like a steel band had begun to clamp down around her, crushing her ribs while her shoulders and neck felt like they were trying to retract into each other. Her breaths became a labor and a prickly feeling down the back of her neck began to rapidly steal her concentration. Her body was going into panic mode and she was overwhelmingly aware of it which only made it worse.

Plucking the cigarette from her fingers, Manson tossed it to the ground, stomping it out, then wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, pulling her into until she was firmly pressed against him. At first, she thought it was a simple hug, until she felt the way he pressed her arms stiffly against her sides and used his strength to restrict the rest of her body. On any other occasion, the feeling would have been claustrophobic, but as he spoke once more, she felt as if her body was forced to obey, making her begin to calm down.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered. “In slow… slow… And out… slowly… there… like that...” He repeated his words a few more times until she gave a shuddering gasp and all that was left of the anxiety came out in a muffled sob that caught her off guard. Though she had cried in front of him before, she hated crying, especially in moments of panic. But it was as if the forming attack needed to leak its way out somehow and that was the only way it could. Her body shivered and two tears escaped her eyes. Then her heart began to slow and she dropped her head against his shoulder, able to match her breathing to his.

He stood still, holding her in place until he felt her shaking stop, then he slowly released her, looking into her eyes to make certain it had passed. She looked weary and emotionally drained, but her body was calm.

“Fuck,” she whispered, wiping her face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he replied in an almost scolding tone. “Right now you have two options. I can call for a car and we can get the hell out of here, let my assistant come back for our stuff, and we’ll be gone…” His voice trailed off as he gauged her reaction. She would have been lying if she said the idea was not tempting. “Or…” he continued. “You rip off the bandaid. I can be in there with you or I can leave you alone to do whatever you need to do. Either way, no one is forcing you to make either choice. This is entirely your decision.”

Something in the way he spoke, the way he made her see her options but still allowed her the ability to decide for herself, made the situation feel less out of her control. And that was more calming than anything else he could have possibly said or done.

She took a very deep breath, Manson allowing her enough time to think over her choices carefully, then she turned her eyes to the hotel entrance. “They must have flown out here…” she pondered. “That couldn’t have been cheap.”

“Not your problem,” he interjected. “Don’t let anyone guilt you into anything, Amanda. Go with your gut.”

She looked him in the eye, taking his words to heart, then gave a slow nod. “Walk with me in there,” she said at last. “I’ll tell you if I need you to stay. I just need the help actually getting there.” He nodded, making his way to the door and holding it open for her.

The walk to the lounge felt slow and her legs felt weighted down. Manson remained close behind her, only coming to a stop when they reached the entryway. Amanda peered in, her eyes scanning the open space until they fell on a couple sitting in two lounge chairs near the fire, too engulfed in conversation to notice her. Curiosity gripped the singer and he stole a quick glance at them, unable to help noticing Amanda’s eyes in her mother’s and her jawline on her father. He wondered what other similarities lie there, but this was not the time.

“I’ll be in the lobby,” he whispered to her. “With my phone. Text me if you need me.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, still hesitant to take the first step.

Manson paused, feeling almost as nervous for her now as he had the night before when he watched her cross the stage alone to address the crowd. She had been brave then and he knew deep down she could do it again now. He only hoped she knew it as well. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he bent over, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. He noticed the way her eyes closed at the touch and he felt her shoulders rise a bit as she inhaled deeply in response.

She felt so warm...

Something began to stir in his chest, but he broke away before it could be fully realized, knowing this was not the time for that either. He had offered her his support, now it was up to her to see it through.

Corinne was the first to notice her when she finally began to approach them, and she leapt up from her seat, running to her daughter and throwing her arms around her. Frank moved slower, his firm demeanor showing far less emotion than his wife, but it was still evident in his eyes that seeing Amanda again meant just as much to him as it did her. “Oh honey!” Corinne cried out, crushing her daughter against her, and Amanda wrapper her arms around her, feeling her tears returning as she struggled to look over her shoulder to her father.

“We’ve been so worried!” Corinne sobbed, stepping back to cup Amanda’s face in her hands. “We didn’t know… we didn’t know if you were…” No matter how she tried, she could not string an ending to either sentence, and Amanda gave her a shaky nod as her tears fell, still unable to speak.

“Come here,” her father spoke up, holding his arms out to her, and she stepped into his embrace, seeming to be pressed even tighter into his hug than her mother’s. “You have no idea how scared we’ve been for you,” he said in a stern but comforting voice. “We’ve been worried sick.”

Amanda still could not speak, giving a muffled sob instead as she stepped back, wiping her eyes and struggling to compose herself. It had been so long since the last time she had felt an embrace from either of them. They even smelled just like she remembered. It all made her chest swell so much it ached.

“Can we sit?” her mom asked in a weak voice. “Can we talk?” Her tone broke Amanda’s heart for it made it clear her mom had no expectations of her daughter giving her the time of day. After the year and a half she had given them, she felt she only had herself to blame for that.

The conversation opened with a few carefully placed questions meant to slowly rebuild the confidence of everyone in the room. “How are you?” “Have you been well?” “You look well…” Eventually, her parents felt secure enough to work towards the heart of the matter. It began with a criticism.

“So when did you start smoking? I can smell it on you,” her father stated. Amanda could already feel the disapproval in his gaze and a part of her that was well trained to do so began to recoil nervously. It took her a few moments to find the strength to squelch it.

“Shortly before I left,” she replied. “I discovered it helped calm my nerves so I kinda took to it.”

“And the tattoo?”

Her eyes wandered down to her arm, having forgotten it was now visible since she had taken off her hoodie. “A few weeks ago,” she answered, holding it up for them to read. “It’s sort of a new personal motto.”

“No doubt  _his_ idea...” her mother estimated, making Amanda frown.

“This change started way before I met Marilyn Manson. Let’s be clear on that right now.’

“But he’s certainly help feed it,” her father interjected.

“He’s… encouraged it, yes,” she relented. “But it’s more like he’s helped open doors for me. I tell him whatever crazy idea comes to my head and he helps make it happen.”

“Do I even want to know all of it?” her mother asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably not,” Amanda admitted with a soft smile. She looked between the two of them expectantly. “So… are you going to let me have it then? I’m sure you’re both dying to.”

Her parents exchanged a glance, but her mother was the first to shake her head. “There’s nothing we can say about how we feel that you no doubt already know,” she sighed. “And we’re not here to lecture or scold you. You’re a grown adult. You can make whatever choices you want. You don’t need our approval.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. There were a million possible things she had expected them to say to her. This was not one of them. Not by a long shot. It was not like them to avoid criticising her. Perhaps her departure had caused something to change?

“We came here to make sure you were safe,” her father spoke at last. “That’s the most important thing right now. You can imagine how it feels to lose contact for so long and the first we hear of you is that you’re touring with Marilyn Manson, of all people.”

She gave a snort of amusement at the thought and shrugged, her eyes watering with emotion at this unprecedented change in tone. “I can only imagine what everyone back home is saying. They all probably think I went way off the deep end to rebel or something…”

“Oh… you’ve been an interesting topic of conversation at church…” her mother confirmed with a nod. “There’s been a lot of prayer for you since you disappeared. Everyone always asks if we’ve heard anything. Now they’re too afraid to ask.”

“It’s not like I disappeared to join a cult,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. “You know, if any of them took five minutes to actually research what the man is really about…” Her voice wandered off and she shook her head. “That’s five more minutes research than most of them would ever do on anything that scared them in their lives.”

“Hey now,” her father interjected. “Research or not, you have to admit that was a pretty startling change of events.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed, sitting back in her chair.

“So… what’s your plan then? Are you following him through the entire tour? Where are you going when it ends?”

“I… don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “We’ve talked about my possibly tagging along for the UK tour… but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. Before I took off with him though, I was living in Denver… and a part of me would really like to return there at the end.”

Mentioning the end caused that old familiar ache in her chest, but she forced herself not to think about it now. She was already too raw inside with emotion.

“What were you doing in Denver?” her mother asked.

“I found work in a bookstore, which was perfect for me. In fact if the place is still there when I get back, I would love to get my old job back.”

Corinne smiled at her. “You always did love your books…” she mused.

“So… no plans for returning to Rochester?” Frank asked, sadness in his eyes.

Amanda shook her head, two tears rolling down her cheeks as she forced herself to break eye contact. “I really loved where I was,” she explained. “So I wouldn’t mind building a life there. But…” Her voice grew weak. “I missed you guys… so much.” Her mother leaned over and wrapped her in a tight hug, and Amanda let go, sobbing into her arms as her father placed a warm hand on her back.

From the entryway, Manson peaked in once more, having not heard anything from Amanda for several minutes. The sight of the family bound together in an emotional embrace made him smile softly, a part of him hoping this would be the start of some much needed healing for her.

There was still anger, there was still pain. There were still a million emotions, most of them negative, that were still in her mind when she thought back on her childhood and her upbringing… But that primal part of her that was made to love her parents had not died, and he could see it in the way she held on to them.

An hour later, the three emerged, Amanda’s eyes red and puffy and Corinne clutching a tissue in her hand. The young woman borrowed a pen from the reception desk and wrote something down on a scrap of paper, handing it to her parents. “Here’s my new cell number,” she told them. “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to answer, but I’ll call back when I can.” The pair nodded at her in understanding and pulled her into one more hug, each of them taking hold of a hand as they stepped back to look at her one last time.

“I know… I don’t need your approval,” she told them, her lower lip trembling as fresh tears fell. “I just… I just hope you’ll still love me… no matter who I turn out to be.”

Manson flinched when he heard her words, having kept himself tucked back near the elevator to allow her some privacy. While he knew the fear she spoke of was very real, it made him sick to his stomach to think anyone would actually have to worry about whether or not their parents would still love them because of religion.

When they finally parted, Amanda stood at the entrance, wiping her eyes while as she watched the taxi drive them away, and the singer crept up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. “You okay?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yeah,” her voice cracked. “I will be.”


	17. Keep You Safe

“When do we leave?” Amanda asked as they rode the elevator to the upper floors. “Was our flight today?”

“I made arrangements for tomorrow morning,” the singer answered, watching her carefully. “I figured you could use a break.”

“Fuck… but that won’t give us much time to get to the venue and set up,” she muttered, rubbing at her forehead.

“Not your problem,” he replied. “We’ll make it work. My agent and the band already know there are extenuating circumstances.”

“Gives your agent another reason to hate me,” she sighed.

“Who gives a fuck? This was more important.” She turned to him with sad eyes, the events of the day clearly pushing her past her limits of emotional drainage.

“Why do you keep doing all these things for me?” she asked him. It had been a while since she had asked the question but that did not mean it did not still come to her mind frequently. “Everything would be so much easier for you if you didn’t keep going out of your way for me.”

The corner of his mouth curved upwards and he turned to fully face her, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her. “Well that’s not much fun, is it?” He stepped closer to her and took her face in his hands, brushing away the remnants of tear stains from her cheeks. “You need a break,” he told her firmly, an authoritative tone entering his voice that caused her body to respond almost immediately as if he had her under some spell. “If you’re up for it… I’d like to try something.”

“Oh?” she inquired with a blink.

“Yes,” he answered, still holding her face in his hands so she could not look away. “I think it will help, if you’re open to it.”

The elevator dinged and he parted slowly, not taking his eyes off her but moving a hand to the small of her back, leading her back to his hotel room. Amanda did not ask any questions, though she had plenty. Something deep inside her told her it would be better to follow along and trust him, and so she did, allowing the door to shut and lock behind them.

He stepped in front of her, looking into her eyes, and with the same authority in his voice, he said to her, “I’m going to ask you to do everything I say. I’m going to ask you to obey me and let me take control of you for a short while.” A shiver rolled down her spine at his words as she listened intently. “If at any time you need to stop, simply say it, and we stop. Can you agree to that?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. Part of her began to fear the situation was about to turn into a bondage and masochism session, but she wanted to see where he was going with it first, the other part of her trusting that he could already see where her limits were.

He moved to the lights, selecting only a few to leave on to keep the room from getting too bright, and once everything was at a more comfortable setting, he stepped in front of her again, pausing only inches away. His hand reached out, lightly caressing her cheek, and he lowered his face until she could feel his breath on her skin. Her body prepared for it, her eyes closing and her head tilting upwards to meet him, but when she felt nothing she paused, fearing she had read him wrong.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

She closed the gap, pressing her lips to his, listening as he breathed in deeply and feeling both of his hands resting on her face to draw her closer to him. His lips caressed hers gently, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over her cheekbones. Her arms slipped around his neck, her fingers running through his dark hair, and he pressed her closer to him with a contented sigh.

She felt his lips part from hers until they were only a breath away, and he spoke in a husky tone, “Open your mouth.” She obeyed, parting her lips only to feel them covered by his once more, his tongue penetrating her mouth in search of hers. She knew she tasted of cigarettes and coffee, but he did not seem to mind, his tongue beginning a slow dance with her own. He felt like warm velvet and each caress of his lips somehow seemed to draw her closer even though it was physically impossible.

When he broke the kiss, his eyes remained closed and he leaned forward, lightly brushing the tip of his nose over her cheek and placing soft, scattered kisses to her skin. Her breathing grew heavy and her eyes fell closed again, allowing her to fully take in every physical sensation. He traced his way over the other side of her face, his fingers caressing along the sides of her neck to the slope before her shoulders, then he pressed his lips to hers once again, his tongue reclaiming hers.

Amanda moaned against his lips and she could feel a smile form on his mouth. He broke the kiss again, resting his forehead against hers, and said after a moment, “Take your clothes off and lie down on the bed.”

His hands released her and she took a slow step back, pulling her shirt over her head, followed shortly by her bra. As she moved to her jeans, she kept her eyes on him, unsure when he would take the opportunity to touch her. Every inch of her was begging for him to do so, but he stood still with thoughtful eyes, observing as she obeyed him. When she was naked, she climbed onto the mattress and allowed her back to rest on the cool comforter while he approached the foot of the bed and looked down at her. He reached down, his fingertips drawing a line down her hip and along the inside of her thigh. Part of her wondered if he was going to strip down too, but he made no move to do so, all his attention seeming to be drawn to her form.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” his voice rumbled, his eyes finally meeting hers. “I want you to relax and let go. Fully let go. Your body is in my hands for the next few hours and I will treat it as I see fit.” Her heart began to pound and he gave her a meaningful look. “I will not harm you. I will not exhaust you. I will not overwhelm you. I am only here to care for you… and I can only do that if I have your complete trust.” He circled the bed and knelt down at the side, leaning over her until his lips were brushing hers. “Do I have your trust?”

“You do,” she breathed, biting at her lower lip. She was rewarded with another kiss and his hand returned to her hip, grazing its way downward until it rubbed against her sex.

As he massaged her, his lips wandered along her neck, sucking at her skin and rolling the tip of his tongue over every darkening patch he created. He did not hurt her but always brought her deliciously to the brink between pleasure and pain. Her hips began to move of their own volition, helping to guide his hand until he reached exactly the right spot. She could feel herself growing wet, and when his fingers glided down to lightly prod at her entrance, they drew back over her folds, slick with her arousal.

He rose, making his way back to the foot of the bed and gestured for her to move closer to the end. “Bring your hips over the side.” She scooted herself downwards until her waist was just over the edge, and he knelt down once more, drawing her legs over his shoulders and wrapping his hands over her hips. His tongue parted her folds and her head fell back with a gasp of ecstasy. His eyes remained open and fixed on her, watching her body writhe against the comforter, her eyelids flutter shut, her lips part as her breathing grew ragged. When he struck the right nerve, he felt the muscles in her thighs begin to twitch involuntarily and heard her gasp with every movement. His hands held her hips firmly and he buried his mouth into her sex, making love to it with every stroke of his tongue.

“I… I’m going to… oh god!” she cried, her fingers bunching the sheets.

“Sshh…” he hushed, letting his breath escape over her flesh. “Don’t tell me. Just relax and let your body do what it wants.” He began his tender assault on her once more until he heard her whimper loudly followed by a sharp gasp of release. Her sex felt like it was dripping and he lapped at her juices until he had thoroughly cleaned her sensitive skin.

“Keep your eyes closed, scoot back to where you were, and place your hands on the mattress,” he whispered to her, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, and then looked up to see if she had listened. Her body was trembling, goosebumps rising on her skin, but her eyes remained closed as she panted for air.

As she moved into place, he removed his clothing before crawling over top of her, covering her body with his own. His nose brushed over her cheek and he brought his lips to her ear. “Touch me,” he murmured.

“Where?” she breathed.

“Wherever you like.”

Keeping her eyes closed as he had asked, she brought her hands up until she felt his arms, and her fingers brushed over every curve and contour, tracing their way up to his shoulders and down his back. When she brought them around to his chest, she began to blindly search for his scars, running her fingertips over every dark and shiny line she could find. He could still remember most of them quite clearly, each of them from a different moment, a different mood… He closed his eyes as she mapped them, opening them only when he felt her move to kiss them.

Pressing a hand on her shoulder he whispered, “Just your hands.” Her body relaxed once more and she moved her hands to his back once more, running them lower until she reached the swell of his ass. It was there that she cupped down, causing a groan from him, and a smile spread to her lips. She grazed her palms over his skin, then migrated to his front, rubbing at his hardened member. He groaned again, his head dropping until his forehead pressed to hers, but he held his hips up from her body, not allowing his erection to brush against her sex.

Her hand wrapped around his shaft and she began to stroke the smooth, hot skin she found there, making him throb for her. His forehead remained pressed against hers as she pleasured him and his hands remained on either side of her shoulders, using all his restraint to hold still at her ministrations. She could hear his breathing grow rough and she rubbed her thumb over his tip, smearing it with precum. His mouth fell open as he breathed harder. She moved her hand up and down in a twisting motion, using the other to massage his testicles.

Gasping turned to grunting, and when he could hold it no more, he released over her stomach in a hot rush, moaning loudly as his flesh radiated with heat and sensitivity. He felt her let him go and he lifted his head to watch as she rubbed his fluids into her skin, the smell of sex beginning to fill his nostrils. He placed a hand over top of hers and guided it, making her spread it from her stomach up to her breasts, using the opportunity to tease at her taut nipples with damp fingers.

He kissed her lips, nipping at her lower one, his teeth finding the slight irregularity where her stitches had left a scar, and he felt her shudder beneath him.

“Roll onto your stomach.”

He climbed off of her, allowing her the room she needed to do as he asked, and while she moved into position, he went for a condom, rolling it over his cock which had already grown erect again. He wanted nothing more than to simply feel her without the barrier, but he was not about to make her take another morning after pill. She could hear him tear open the wrapper, her pulse quickening with excitement, and as he crawled his way back up, kissing a trail up her spine, he whispered to her, “I will keep you safe. I promise.”

Placing his hands on her hips, he guided her to her knees, but as she moved to prop her arms up as well, he took hold of her wrists and pinned them behind her back, forcing her to press the side of her face into the mattress. He used one hand to keep his grip on her wrists, and with the other he guided himself into her warmth. “Oh!” she cried in pleasure, and he gripped down on her waist, drawing his hips back and ramming into her.

Unlike the gentleness he had been showing her up to that point, he moved more aggressively, his cock striking her core with every thrust as if trained on it. The smell of his semen on her skin awoke a feral desire in her, and she allowed herself to cry out with want, encouraging him on as he drove her into the mattress with every movement. The hand that held her wrists pressed her firmly down to the bed, while the hand on her hips kept her pointed upwards at the perfect angle.

Again and again he slammed himself into her, his grunts and groans only awakening her arousal further until her walls began to clamp down around him, her voice ringing out to signal her release. When she came, she cried out loudly, tears falling from her eyes involuntarily and rolling over the bridge of her nose to the mattress beneath her. Her whole body shook from the force of it and he followed her, throwing his head back and digging his nails into her wrists while his body bucked and spasmed against her.

He moved until there was nothing left, then he withdrew from her slowly, guiding her legs to allow her to rest against the mattress once more. “Lie still,” he rasped, climbing off the bed to discard the condom. When he returned, she felt something soft and warm cover her body and his hands drawing her to roll onto her back. “You can open your eyes,” he said in a gentle tone, and she obeyed, immediately meeting his gaze. He wrapped her naked body in a thick warm blanket, then drew her into his lap to cradle her trembling form. She was biting back tears and he could see it in the way her jaw clenchned and her lips quivered.

“It’s okay,” he soothed her. “It’s okay. Let it happen.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck and let herself shudder into him as his hand came to rest against her head, stroking her hair in comfort. He allowed her enough time to compose herself and once her crying began to fade, he rested his head against hers, his hands continuing to massage her frame.

“What you’re feeling now…” he explained to her. “That’s called subdrop. It happens after you allow someone to dominate you and it can be intense. But it can also be cathartic.”

She was blinking away tears, moving her face out of hiding and resting her hand on his chest, slowly stroking his skin. “I thought subdrop only happened after intense bdsm sessions?” she asked in a weak voice.

“That’s not true,” he answered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Your emotions have been run through the gamut today. Handing over complete control, no matter how gentle the dominant one is being, is a mentally and physically trying thing to do, even on a good day. Your body and mind are brought to an extreme high, if it’s done right. So it’s only natural for there to be a bit of a crash afterwards as everything tries to rebalance itself.” He nuzzled her hair and drew her closer to him, kissing her temple. “I’ll help you through it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He kept her close to his form until he was certain she would be all right if he left her side for a few minutes. When he returned, he had drawn a hot bath for her, carrying her to the tub and settling her down in the water. He remained naked, never seeming to get cold even after their arousal had long worn off, and he sat beside the tub with a towel beneath him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, rolling a spare towel for her to tuck behind her head.

“Drained,” she admitted, still able to smile at him. “In a good way though.”

“Good,” he replied with a smile.

“Do we have to leave in the morning?” He raised his shaved brows at the question, looking down when he felt her hand take his. “Can’t we just stay here? And never leave?” He brushed his thumb over her hand, then leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“I wish,” he sighed.


	18. But...

Preparing for their departure felt like an even bigger chore than usual. Perhaps it was because she was even more drained than before, or perhaps it was just from the lack of sleep either of them had managed to get the night before. After her bath and a quick room service dinner, the remainder of the night had been spent in the dark where resting was often replaced with erotic sensations and cries of pleasure. She was not even sure how much sleep, if any, either of them had actually gotten. She only knew she had dozed off when she felt him actually wake her by kissing her forehead while pulling her body closer to him.

“Mmmf…” she grunted, opening her eyes.

“Time to get up,” he murmured, nuzzling hair sleepily.

“Nooo…” she whined, pulling the blankets over her head. She felt him attempt to tug them back but she tightened her grip stubbornly.

“Come on, Mandy,” he chuckled, giving another tug, succeeding this time only for her to pull them back over her head.

“I said no,” she grumbled.

“You can sleep on the plane.” He slipped his hands under the blankets, pressing his fingers against her ribs and smiled mischievously. “You’ve got til three, and then I start tickling…”

“Don’t you dare!”

“One…”

“I fucking mean it!”

“Two…”

“Brian Hugh Warner…!”

His fingers began to tickle mercilessly at her ribs, making her shriek and thrash against him as he cackled, struggling to keep her from knocking them both out of the bed. “Okay!” she squawked, fighting to get out of his grip. “Okay! I’m up! I’m up!” When he released her, she sat up and gave him a dangerous look. “Asshole!” she snapped, striking him with her pillow.

“Morning,” he laughed, but before she could take another swing at him, he took hold of her face and pulled her in for a tender kiss that made her smile against his lips. Her hands dropped the pillow and came to rest on his sides, tracing over his ribs. When he felt her begin to prod at them, he broke the kiss and muttered in amusement, “Won’t work. I’m not ticklish.”

“Not trying to tickle…” she replied, prodding a little more carefully at his ribs. He cocked an eyebrow at her, then he realized what she was doing.

“Are you fucking counting them?!” he exclaimed.

“Juuuust checking…” the crooned, and it was his turn to smack her with a pillow.

“If I ever find out who started that fucking rumor…” he muttered, sliding out of the bed to get dressed.

> ~*~
> 
> _Dear Diary,_
> 
> _Sorry I’ve been neglecting you. A lot has happened in the last several days and I don’t know where to begin. My parents found me. It was every bit as frightening as you might imagine, but once I started talking to them… I don’t know where we stand exactly, but they mostly seemed relieved that I was okay._
> 
> _As big of a deal as that sounds, that’s not what I need to write about. Something’s happened and… I don’t know what to do with it._
> 
> _I’m falling in love with him._
> 
> _I know, it’s a stupid move on my part. But I can’t help it. You can’t have someone in your life who makes such an impact without it coming at a price._
> 
> _I know that there’s no plans for me to stick around once the tour ends. He’s talked to me about the end before at least once and hasn’t brought it up since then. If he wanted me to stay… if he wanted more… he would have said it by now, right? He’s certainly not one to hold back what’s on his mind._
> 
> _I shouldn’t be letting this happen. I shouldn’t be letting myself feel this because I know it’s just going to hurt. And I don’t want to lose what he’s given me._
> 
> _But god, I love him. When we had sex last night… it felt like making love. Or at least what I think that’s like. All I’ve ever known is sex so maybe I’m too screwed up to know the difference. Maybe it’s just my emotions clouding my judgment. Maybe I’m overthinking._
> 
> _Okay, there’s no maybe there._
> 
> _I need to decide what to do. Before my heart gets broken._
> 
> ~*~

Amanda looked up from her diary as she heard the roar of the audience. The band had already begun to disperse backstage, apparently deciding three encores were enough, and she was greeted with a breathless smile from Manson as he wiped the sweat from his brow, smearing his makeup in the process. She snickered at him and shook her head. “Now there’s a look.”

He looked down at his paint coated hand and growled, “Ah, fuck…” which only made her laugh harder. “We’re gonna get ready for the meet-and-greet, and then there’s an after party planned at a penthouse downtown. You in?”

“I’ll let you handle the meet-and-greet, but count me in for the party,” she answered, tapping her pen against her diary.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, giving her a quick peck on her forehead, Amanda smiling when she could tell it left a smudge.

“Aww…” called a voice, and the pair looked over to see Gil and Paul closing in on them. “Look at us, one big happy family!” Gil cheered, extending his arms to her.

“Gil, no!” Amanda cried with a laugh as the drummer took hold of her, giving her an exaggerated kiss on her cheek, making sure to leave plenty of slobber. “Ugh, I hate you!” she chuckled, and before she could stop him, Paul did the same on her other cheek while she squealed in protest.

“You know what this needs?” Paul asked, looking between the other two men. “Group hug!”

“Group hug!” the other two called and Amanda screamed obscenities as she was smothered in their hot sweaty bodies in what had to have been the most suffocating hug of her life.

“OKAY! OKAY!” she shouted, finally managing to push them away, her cheeks red from laughing too hard. “Fuck, you guys smell like a locker room!”

“Deodorant is for pussies!” Gil shouted, throwing his hands in the air and leading the way to where the meet-and-greet would be held, Paul following behind him, pausing to wave to Amanda.

“...whatever that means,” Amanda giggled, raising an eyebrow at Manson he laughed along.

“Pick you up at the hotel?” he offered, extending a hand to her.

“Sounds good. I’ll be ready,” she answered, accepting the gesture and allowing him to pull her to her feet.

A few hours later, she found herself shuffling through yet another crowd of people she did not recognize, a drink clutched tightly in her hand and Manson close by to keep her from getting lost. He introduced her to a few people whose names she knew she would never remember, and got her to try a few new drinks, some that went down better than others. By the time she began to feel her head grow fuzzy with alcohol, she gave his hand a tug, shouting over the loud music, “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

At first, she was unsure if he had heard her as he did not answer right away, but soon he pulled her outside, her ears ringing in the sudden change of volume. When he found a more secluded spot where they could sit down, she finished the last of her drink to give her the extra bit of courage she needed.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she began, pulling out her cigarettes and offering him one. “About the end of the US tour…” His head was bent to dip the tip of his cigarette into her lighter, but his eyes darted to hers, sending a chill down her spine. As he sat back once more, she drew out a cigarette for herself and lit it. “There’s only a handful of shows left, and then it’s on to the UK. And I know we talked about… well, Ireland…”

He raised his brow slightly, pursing his lips, then with a sigh he offered, “But…?”

“But…” she repeated with a nod, her eyes moving away from his. “I think… re-establishing myself at the end of this tour would be for the best.” She looked to him again, trying to read his expression, but the smudged makeup made it nearly impossible. “Now that my parents and I are making an effort, getting myself set up again with a home and a job feels like it should be a priority.”

He nodded his head slowly, taking in her words, his eyes never leaving hers which only made her squirm. “Are… are you sure you’ve thought this through?” he asked at length, the cigarette smoldering away in his hand, completely forgotten. “Not that I disagree with your thought process… I’m just…” He stammered awkwardly, looking away from her to tap away the ashes from his cigarette before taking a steady drag and releasing it into the night air. “I don’t want you making any decisions you feel guilted into,” he finished, looking back at her.

She reached across, taking his hand in both of hers, rubbing her thumbs gently over the top of it as she struggled to find her words. “I’m not,” she answered quietly. “But… you’ve given me one hell of a beginning push towards my new life. The only way that can continue is if I take the next steps on my own.”

He read her gaze and only then could she see the sadness in his eyes. It made her heart ache. For a moment, she hoped he would ask her not to. She wanted him to ask her to stay. To give her something to confirm what she felt was not one-sided.

“Well…” he said at last, a hitch in his voice that she couldn’t help noticing. “I guess that just gives us three more weeks.”

She fought the tears that wanted to form and tried to hide the sound of her heart crashing through the floor. Forcing a sad smile, she replied, “Yeah. I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *curls up in the corner and cries*


	19. Sorrow Waited, Sorrow Won

“Yeah, we’ve just got a couple more shows, then I fly back to Denver next Saturday.” Amanda paced her hotel room with her cell phone in hand, finding that keeping her body moving made her nerves keep calm. Though there had been a few phone calls since she had seen them, talking to her parents on the phone was still not an easy task for her. She still became nervous every time she heard her phone ring as well as every time she went to dial them.

“Will you be going back to your old apartment? What’s going to happen?” her mother asked on the other end.

“I actually found a slightly nicer place that was in my budget,” she replied, deciding to leave out that Manson himself had put in the deposit for her as a gift. He had seen interior photos of the studio apartments she had been living in prior and refused to let her go back to it. She had tried to fight him on it but he would not budge. “I also got in contact with my old manager and he’s said my position will still be waiting for me when I get back, so I guess I lucked out there.”

“Oh good, I’m glad to hear that.” Amanda smiled at her mother’s encouragement, feeling calm enough to allow herself to sit down for a moment. “Well, I was going to say you’re always welcome back home if you need it, but it sounds like you have it pretty well figured out.”

“Yeah…” she sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt. Even she did not have everything planned, she knew in her heart there was no way she would return home to them. There came a soft knock at her door and she pulled it open, allowing Manson to step inside while she pressed her finger to her lips and gestured to the phone in her hand. “Hey, I’m gonna have to let you go, but I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay?”

“All right. Have a safe trip. We love you.”

“Love you too. Take care.”

She hung up and turned to Manson with a sigh as she stuffed her phone in her pocket. “Some day that’ll get easier, I hope.”

“Me too,” he replied with a half smile. “Are you ready?”

“Do I look okay?” she asked, taking a step back and spinning once for him to observe. She was dressed in a black laced dress that was a cross between gothic and burlesque, covering just enough of her cleavage but allowing a decent view of her legs. On her feet were a pair of black high-heeled boots that laced all the way up to just below her knees, and a black leather choker hung around her neck. Normally, Amanda loathed dressing in anything remotely formal or fancy, but her time with the band was drawing to a close, and when Manson had helped her pick something for her night out, she allowed herself to relent, secretly enjoying the look.

“You look stunning,” he answered with a proud smile. “I’ve got a car waiting out front. I’m driving.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re driving?” she asked with a laugh. “You can drive?”

“Very funny,” he scoffed, extending his hand to her. “Come on, smartass. Let’s go.”

The location was a club on the outskirts of the city held in a large three story building. When they stepped inside, Amanda was not sure what to expect, having never attended a club before, but the pounding music came as no surprise. What did come as a surprise was the gothic theme of the entire place. She had not even realized gothic night clubs were a thing, though she was too embarrassed to admit that out loud. Manson took her hand, escorting her through the crowd to the bar and ordered them both a drink before leading her to the second floor where the dance floor lie.

The lights were just dim enough for her to see the flow of bodies as they twirled, swayed, and bobbed to the music, the occasional blacklight causing certain people to glow. Mirrors lined one of the walls, making it easier to tell who was under the influence as they were the ones who appeared to be dancing with their own reflection. Some people danced as a couple, others just did their own thing on the floor while the others appeared to have some silent understanding of where exactly their personal boundary existed so no one bumped into each other.

“Mandy!” shouted a voice, and she twisted her head around in time for Gil to step into her line of vision. His face had been painted white and under the lighting it glowed an iridescent blue, making her giggle in amusement. “Look at you! Hot damn!” The way his words slurred, she could tell he was already drunk, but his energy made up for it. “You just get here?”

“Yup!” she shouted over the crowd.

“All right, then I get first dance!” he announced, grabbing hold of her arm.

“Oh, no! I don’t dance!” Her words were completely ignored as she was dragged out to the dance floor, Manson thinking quick enough to pluck her drink from her hand before it could spill. He grinned as he watched his drummer force the startled woman out of her shell with the force of a Sparta kick, and while she moved awkwardly and self-conscious at first, it did not take long for her to relax and let go to the music.

“Howdy stranger…”

He turned his head, his eyes widening when he met with a face he did not expect. “Dita…” he gasped, moving to shake her hand but realizing his hands were too full. He settled instead for an awkward half-hug and she chuckled at him with a warm smile. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he stepped back.

“I knew you were in town for a show, so I had a hunch I’d find you here.” She took a slow sip from her drink, taking the chance to look him over and assess him, and after she swallowed she noted, “You’re looking well.”

“So are you,” he complimented back. She turned her eyes to the dance floor and spotted his glowing drummer and the woman he was spinning around on the floor.

“Is that her?” she asked, looking back at the singer. “The one who’s been on the news?”

“Amanda,” he replied with a nod. “That’s her.”

“Well she looks like she’s having a good time,” she chuckled, making Manson glance back in time to see Gil lift the young woman up and spin her while she laughed heartily. He smiled at the sight, looking back to Dita when he felt her hand on his arm. “Mind if I steal a dance then?”

Amanda laughed hard enough her chest hurt as she was set back down on her feet, only to squeal when a pair of arms snapped around her waist from behind her. “My turn!” she heard Paul’s voice shout behind her, and she spun around to face him, moving her body to match his rhythm. Gil quickly found himself another girl to dance with and Paul glanced around as he bounced to the music. “Where’s Manson?” he called loud enough for her to hear.

“He’s-” She turned her head in the direction of where she left him, but he was nowhere to be found. Her brow knit together and she began to search the crowd, cursing that for once they were in a place where he would blend in.

“Oh, there he is!” the guitarist announced, pointing to another part of the crowd. Amanda turned her head to look, squinting in the odd lighting when she saw the woman he was dancing with while wearing a wide smile.

“Holy shit, is that Dita?!” she cried, her eyes widening.

“Shit, I think it is!” Gil called, having heard her from where he was dancing.

“Is… that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asked, looking to Paul in concern. She knew enough to know it was his ex-wife, but what terms they were on, she was never quite clear.

“Good, I guess,” Paul answered with a shrug. “Last I knew, they were friends.”

“They’re cool,” Gil added with a nod. “Trust me, we’d know it if they weren’t.” Amanda snickered and resumed dancing, making a mental note to try and introduce herself before the night was out.

“They boys seem to have really taken to her,” Dita noted as Manson spun her out and back in towards his body.

“She’s been good to have around,” he agreed.

“Is she coming with you for the UK portion as well?”

“No…” he answered, unable to help the frown on his face. “She goes back home to Denver next week.” Dita noticed the look in his eyes and gave him a sympathetic glance.

“Well, you seem to have left a mark. Looks like she left hers too.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And what does that mean?” he inquired, spinning her again and dipping her with a flourish.

“Just that I know you well enough to know when you’re smitten,” she answered.

He flinched at the statement and determined to change the subject as he pulled her upright once more.

A few more songs passed, and Amanda felt herself begin to tire out, wondering if she would ever get that dance. Every time she glanced back at Manson, she could see he was still fairly lost in conversation with the beautiful creature in his arms, and after another song had passed, she finally signalled her surrender, moving off the floor to catch her breath. Paul followed her, ordering drinks for the both of them, then nodded pointedly to the stairs. “There’s a smoking lounge up there,” he offered her.

“I left my cigarettes at the hotel,” she admitted, looking down at her dress and laughing. “I had nowhere to keep them in this thing.”

“Never heard of a purse?” he teased, drawing out his own pack for her to see. “I got you covered. Come on.”

They reached the upper floor, which was broken into two rooms, the first appearing to be some sort of karaoke bar, the second being the aforementioned lounge, the stench of cigarettes nearly knocking her backwards as they stepped inside. They found a victorian style loveseat and planted themselves there, each of them lighting up a cigarette and relaxing back with blissful smiles. “Looking forward to getting back to normal life?” he asked her after a few minutes.

She shook her head with a laugh. “Have I even started having a normal life?” she asked. “All the shit I’ve been through… When I reach normal, I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough.” He took another drag from his cigarette, blowing it back in her face, and with a smirk she retaliated, making him laugh. “It sucks that you’re not coming with us. I know Marilyn’s bummed about it.”

“Oh I’m sure it’ll be a relief. I’ve been a hassle, it feels like.”

“Bullshit,” he denied, shaking his head. “I know for a fact he’s been having a blast taking you under his wing. And he likes you a lot.”

“He said that?”

“He doesn’t have to. You’d have to be blind to miss it.” He grinned at her, looking her up and down and she gave a self-conscious blush. “Sorry,” he apologized, holding his hands up in surrender. “You just look really gorgeous tonight. I’m surprised he even let anyone else dance with you.”

“Yeah well… he seemed busy,” she replied with a shrug, taking another drink from her glass.

“What, Dita? Don’t worry about Dita,” he said, waving her off. “That’s been over for years.”

“They seemed pretty chummy to me,” she pointed out.

“They’re just on good terms…” His voice trailed off and he raised his eyebrows at her. “Are you jealous?”

“Please,” she snorted. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Uh-huh…” he replied skeptically.

“I’m going home next week,” she sighed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what I think now. He’s an adult. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Uh-huh,” he repeated, causing her to playfully smack him on the arm. He finished his drink, then rose to his feet, extending a hand to her. “Well, come on then. I’m not going to let the prettiest girl here just sit around bored. We’re dancing.” With a smile, she accepted his invitation and followed him back out to the dance floor.

The dance with Manson never came. At some point in the night she lost sight of him in the crowd, and after a few more hours of dancing and drinking, she gave up looking for him entirely, trying not to think of where he may actually be. When the club began to shut down for the night, she climbed into a car with the other two musicians, riding back to the hotel with them while laughing like the group of drunken fools they were.

When they reached the hotel, Paul locked arms with her, discovering she was having trouble keeping her balance in her boots after how much she had to drink, and escorted her to the elevator to the upper floors. “I didn’t see his car,” she slurred, her head rolling lazily to look at the guitarist. “He must have left without me.”

“We’ll kick his ass then,” Paul beamed at her. “Leaving his woman at a club… what an ass.”

“I’m not his woman!” she cried, giving him a shove that caused him to stumble into the wall of the elevator.

“Oh, then does that make you my woman tonight?” he asked with a smug grin.

She poked her finger into his chest with a giggle and answered, “You watch it, Mister. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Laaaaame…” he droned, throwing his arm over her shoulders. With a laugh, she placed hers around his waist and the pair stumbled out of the elevator and into the hall. “Where we going?” he asked, looking around wildly and nearly causing them both to lose their balance.

“I’m that way,” she laughed, pointing in the right direction, and he took the lead, walking to the direction of her door.

Halfway there, she came to a dead stop and he stumbled forwards, nearly bringing her with him before he caught his balance. “Hey, what the-” He stopped, noticing her eyes were fixed on something.

They were in front of Manson’s door. And a “Do Not Disturb” sign hung over the knob.

Amanda stood frozen, feeling like the world had just come crashing at her feet, and Paul stood silent, too stunned and intoxicated to know what to say to her. Not that it stopped him from trying. “Mandy…” he stammered, looking at her in concern. “Mandy… I’m… I’m so…”

Her hand snapped up, grabbing him by the collar, and she tugged him to her, crashing her lips over his with a heated growl. The guitarist went stiff for a moment, then his arms closed around her, pulling her in as he returned the kiss heatedly and passionately. When they broke apart, she looked at him with a rage in her eyes that startled him. “Guess I am your woman tonight.”

Looking at her with only a moment of hesitation, he took hold of her hands and replied in a deep rumble, “Yes, ma’am,” following as she took him to her bedroom.

Manson stood beside his bed, re-buttoning his shirt while avoiding eye contact with the naked woman who lay comfortably in the tangle of sheets. A storm of emotions was running through his head, leaving him unable to decide which to contend with first. He thought what he had just done would help him to clear his head, but it was quickly becoming clear it had done just the opposite.

“You look miserable,” Dita mused as she watched him. “I must be losing my touch.” He did not answer her, but moved to pull his pants back on, grimly fastening both them and his belt. She sat up, looking at him fully and her smile changed to a frown. “Brian… are you going to be all right?”

His frown deepened. If anyone had a good reason to ask that, she did. She knew better than almost anyone what he tended to resort to when he was this unhappy. He looked over his shoulder at her and sighed. “Please get dressed. This was a mistake.” There was a hurt look in her eyes, only adding to his guilt, but she did as he asked without a word of objection.

“You know…” she offered as she pulled up her dress. “There might still be time. She’s probably still at the club with the guys. You should go to her.”

“And what good would that do?” he spat, his voice growing more harsh than he intended. “Sorry,” he apologized immediately. “I’m just… I’m fucking messed up right now…”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I’m no stranger to your temper.” Her smile was warm, despite his demeanor towards her, and she turned her back to him, peering over her shoulder to him. “Zip me up?” He obliged her, pressing a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder, then sighing in defeat and resting his forehead against the slope of her neck. “Oh Brian…” she sighed, stepping away and turning to face him. She took his face in her hands and offered him a look of sympathy. “You’ve got it bad. You never were one to fall gently either.”

He managed a sad smile. “You know me too well.”

“I can see myself out.” She stepped into her shoes and pulled her coat back on, stopping when she reached the door. “Go find her. I’m sure you still have time.” With that she left and he gave himself a moment to breathe, deciding if he really wanted to take his ex wife’s advice.

When he finally managed to enter the hallway, he heard a door opening a few rooms down and turned his head. Paul was stepping out into the hall, adjusting his jacket, and behind him Amanda stood in nothing but a long t-shirt that came down just as low as it needed to. The guitarist pressed a kiss to her forehead, gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, then made his way down the opposite end of the hall, never noticing Manson. Amanda, on the other hand, turned to head back into her room but stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes met his.

He felt himself go completely numb as he looked at her, taking in her disheveled hair and her lack of clothing. And the way Paul had kissed her forehead before leaving her. She stared at him for a moment, hugging herself tightly and shuffling her bare foot against the carpet. Then without a word, she turned and slipped back into her room, removing the “Do Not Disturb” sign as she pulled the door closed.

Manson hung his head, his eyes clenching tightly shut as he took a ragged breath. “God fucking dammit…” he growled, then slunk back to his room, slamming the door with an echoing crash.


	20. Running to the Edge of the World

No one spoke of the previous night when dawn finally came. While Amanda had half expected to be angrily informed she was no longer needed for the tour, not that she was exactly needed in the first place, the confrontation she dreaded never came. Instead the first interaction she had with the singer was when he dropped by her room to tell her she had five minutes before they were leaving. It did not escape her, the way he avoided prolonged eye contact, or the complete lack of warmth. He did not act angry, but the dynamic had changed and it was not good.

As afraid as she was for his reaction towards her, she was even more afraid for Paul. It did not occur to her until she was left alone in her room that night that she may have just cost him his job. But when they boarded the bus, she was surprised to see him regard the guitarist with as little thought as he had regarded her. From the look on Paul’s face, she could tell he had not been expecting that either.

Manson did not act angry or betrayed, simply defeated, and he hardly spoke a word on the drive. Amanda confined herself to her bunk, unable to sleep or confront her feelings in her diary. She avoided memories of her tryst as much as she avoided the mental images of Manson and that breathtaking woman he once called his wife. She wanted to doubt the previous night had meant the couple were rekindling their relationship, but she was not sure. And she tried not to wonder too hard.

They arrived in Orlando sooner than she had anticipated, and when the bus came to a stop, she grabbed her backpack and hurried off the bus, avoiding all their eyes and making a dash for her hotel room. She was not ready to deal with any of them and none of them seemed in any hurry to stop her. When she was alone in her room, she drew the blinds shut and sat alone in the dark, holding her head in her hands while desperately trying to find a way to sort through everything she was feeling before it overwhelmed her.

Manson watched her as she retreated, a part of him taking some sort of vindictive joy in seeing she was just as upset as he was. He knew that was a horrible thought, but his mood was sour enough he did not care. Misery loves company, after all.

When it came time for the show, he half expected Amanda not to join them this time, but when she took her place backstage, he did everything in his power to ignore her and focus on his performance. With everything that had happened, his mood had grown darker by the minute. At least his music would give him a release and he would only come across as more genuine to the audience who had no idea what was going on with him. And if he knew one thing, it was that they always loved genuine.

Amanda watched as the performer threw his all into his art. As much as she had enjoyed his other shows, this one was very different. There was more rage in every scream, more pain in every sharp change of pitch, more frustration in his every movement. The force of it was nearly tangible and the audience was very clearly devouring it, their own shouts of enjoyment sounding all the more deafening than before.

There came a momentary break where the lights dimmed and the band made just enough sound to prevent an awkward silence. This was normal, so she thought nothing of it, knowing it simply signalled a costume change for Manson. As he stalked past her, she turned her eyes to the floor, unable to look at him, and waited as he disappeared into his changing room, followed by a flurry of assistants meant to make the transition happen even faster.

He could not bring himself to look at her when he passed her. His emotions were raw and burning, having been put out on display for the entirety of his show. Looking at her would have made something inside him snap, and he could not afford to let that happen. He had considered several times asking her to go, but every time he began to decide what to say, his own guilt came back to him and he could only remember this was every bit as much of his fault as it was hers.

As he was changed into his new outfit while reminding himself which song was next in his set, he caught something from the corner of his eye. Amanda’s diary was laying out on his table, next to his army of cosmetics. His brow furrowed as he glanced back over his shoulder, wondering if it had been left there deliberately.

_Of course it was. I didn’t put it there._

The thin black ribbon had a page marked and he opened it, discovering a particular entry had been highlighted for him.

~*~

> _Dear Diary,_
> 
> _He gave me hope. And I love him for it._

~*~

Something clenched inside of him and he read the short entry over and over again, feeling it burn itself inside his mind a little deeper each time. For a moment, he completely forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. All he saw were those words.

“Mr. Manson, are you ready?”

He shook himself out of his trance and blinked several times, feeling a little disoriented. As his mind tried to regroup, one thought jumped to the forefront, and deciding not to fight it, he marched back to the stage, hurrying to Gil and Paul to let them know there would be one small change to their set. It was always a bad idea to make changes at the very last minute, but luckily, they were used to the unexpected from him. He knew they would be able to adapt.

Amanda watched with curiosity, having noticed the sudden change in the singer’s demeanor. When he spoke to both his bandmates, she knew something was possibly off, but the way they agreed all too quickly kept her from worrying.

He took center stage again, the lights shining back on him and he held his hand out to signal to the excited crowd to quiet down. “I wasn’t going to sing this one tonight,” he announced, causing the audience to finally lower their voices to hear him. “So get the fuck over it if we’re a little under rehearsed, got it?” There came cheers and applause and even Amanda could not help a small chuckle. When the guitar began, it took her a few moments to recognize the song and she felt her heart begin to ache before he sang a single note.

“Remember when I took you up to the top of the hill…”

She could hear the audience singing along with him only a few words in, and she closed her eyes, leaning against the wall as she listened to him. Every time she had seen him perform this song, whether it was in his music video or on a stage during a show, it was always raw to her and it always made her emotional.

“Sometimes hate is not enough to burn this all to ashes…”

Manson turned his head, looking in the direction where he knew she was standing. He could barely make out her form, but it did not matter. All that mattered was that she knew he was singing to her. When he reached the chorus, he belted it out with everything he had, the audience feeding off his energy, only to throw it back at him with their own. His voice hitched and cracked a few times but no one seemed to notice. He was lost in the moment and almost felt naked under the spotlights. When the song finally came to a close he allowed a moment for the audience to cheer while he composed himself, then moved on to the rest of his show without any further unplanned surprises.

The meet-and-greet that followed felt longer than usual. By the time they were wrapping it up and planning an after party, Amanda had already returned to the hotel by herself, knowing alcohol was the last thing she needed. Instead she took to the roof of the hotel, chain smoking her way through four cigarettes by the time she heard the door open behind her.

Manson stood silent as he watched her, unsure of what to say or how to say it. She turned to face him, her eyes red and puffy but her cheeks dry. “You were amazing tonight,” she commented, looking him in the eyes for the first time since the day began. “Really. I’ve never seen you perform like that.”

He gave a stiff nod, shifting uncomfortably as he struggled to even thank her for the compliment. “I need to tell you something…” she began but he found his voice in time to cut her off.

“Me first,” he said gently and she closed her mouth. “These… last several days, I’ve been struggling with my feelings for you.” Her eyes saddened and he turned his gaze to the ground. “I know what you said… or were trying to say at least the morning after the first time I slept with you. That you weren’t ready for anything more than a fling. And I understood. You’ve been going through a very important change in your life and having more on your plate isn’t fair.

“But… I still struggled. I did my best not to show it and to keep my feelings in check but I care about you. A lot. I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve had with you and watching you evolve into the person you’ve always wanted to be. And being a part of it made it so much harder for me not to get emotionally attached.” Amanda’s eyes were burning but she was unable to cry. Instead she lit another cigarette and gave it a few shivering puffs.

“Last night I did a stupid thing,” he continued, his frown deepening. “And I did it to try and clear my head. To try and force things back into perspective. I thought it would help, but it didn’t. It actually made everything worse. And then when I saw you in the hall…” His voice wandered and he failed to finish the sentence.

“I am not the person I want to be,” Amanda choked, causing him to look up at her. “When I saw that sign on your door last night… I reacted in a way that scares me.” Tears finally managed to find their way to her eyes and she sniffed hard, tossing her cigarette over the side as it was making her stomach turn. “I’ve been struggling with my feelings too. I’ve been too cowardly to say them, mostly because I don’t know what to do with them right now. I figured if you felt that way about me, you would have asked me to stay. But you didn’t and then when I knew you were with Dita… I reacted out of hurt and all I could think about was how much I wanted to hurt you back.” She shuddered, letting out a sob while covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to muffle it. “I fucked Paul,” she wept. “And I did it because I wanted to hurt you. And that scares me. That’s not the person I want to be. The person I was last night… was ugly and disgusting and the fact that something like that even exists inside me makes me hate myself. Especially when I saw your face…” She turned away from him, burying her face in her hands as she fought for control over her emotions. When she felt the lump in her throat loosen a bit, she continued.

“And the only thing I hate more is the fact that I can’t think of anything to say, except for I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough and I know it doesn’t fix or help anything, but I am so sorry.”

Manson watched her as she cried miserably, her confession having been very hard on her. He knew what she admitted was horrible, but at the same time he understood it. He knew damn well what it was like to want to hurt someone who had hurt him first. And while they were only friends and no infidelity had actually taken place, it was her motivation that was the most upsetting part and even he felt a sting from her admitting to it.

When he began to approach her, she watched him nervously, not sure what to expect. He came to a stop a foot away, then opened his arms, looking at her intently. Amanda was hesitant, but she found her strength and shuffled forward, allowing herself to be closed into his embrace. He rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes and listening to her shuddered breathing while rubbing her back. For a moment, it reminded him of the first time he hugged her at all, well over a year ago when she had absolutely nothing.

After a moment, he whispered sadly, “I understand.”

It was not exactly forgiveness, but it was enough. For the time.

When they were back in the hotel, Manson followed her to her room, then withdrew something from one of the deeper pockets in his trench coat. “I think this is yours,” he said, extending the diary to her. When she took it back from him, he could already see the answer in her eyes that it was in fact her that had left it for him to read. “I meant what I said a while back,” he continued, watching her with thoughtful eyes. “You should consider publishing it. A lot of people will want to know your story. A lot of people should know.”

“Yeah well…” she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Given recent events…”

“No one said there couldn’t be omissions,” he replied with a soft smile. “Get some rest. Only two shows left.”

Her eyes widened a little. “You’re not going to send me off?” she asked.

He said nothing but simply shook his head, waving goodnight to her before heading to his room. As she watched him leave, she muttered to herself in disbelief, “Nothing changes.”


	21. Be Simple

It had come too soon, but it was inevitable. As they pulled into the final city of the US tour, Amanda could not fight the aching feeling in her heart, knowing it was all about to end and she would be going her separate way. It had been a long and interesting journey, and one she hated to see reach its finish. But she knew she would have to return to her real life eventually, and no matter how sad that made her, she was determined not to let her mood ruin her last night with the band.

After their conversation on the roof, a sort of truce seemed to have formed between Amanda and Manson, as well as between Manson and Paul. Though all romantic advances had stopped entirely, and she had no expectations of them ever coming back, Manson had slipped back into a friendship with her that seemed to come all too easily to him. She did not understand how he was able to, after what she had told him, but she was grateful. Once she found the four of them all able to joke around and act like a band of jackasses again, she felt herself able to relax around them once again.

"I just got off the phone with the movers..." Manson informed her, climbing up into her bunk with his phone in his hand. "All of your items will be out of storage and waiting at your new place tonight. Then they're scheduled to come back in the morning so that they're there when you return home and can help you get things set up."

"That'll be a relief," she sighed with a smile. "For a minute I was afraid I'd have to actually call my parents and ask them to come over and help me..."

"You're going to have to see them again eventually."

"We just started talking again... I'm not there yet." He chuckled softly as he stuffed his phone in his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes, offering one to her.

"So... is your flight all set?" he asked, crossing one leg over the other.

"Yeah. Gotta get up at the asscrack of dawn too. Maybe I'll just pull an all-nighter and sleep on the plane."

"I'll be riding with you to the airport," he said with a soft smile.

"Going to see me off?" she asked, trying to hide the waver in her voice while quickly cramming her cigarette back into her mouth.

"Of course I am." He could see her eyes begin to glisten but noted her efforts to control it and did nothing to draw attention to it. "And... if we happen to pass a train on the way there..."

She scoffed, coughing lightly on her smoke before managing to giggle. "I swear to fuck, if you bring up that goddamn train heist again one more time..."

For the final show, Amanda chose to be in the audience rather than behind the stage. They provided her with a front row seat. She took in the full brunt of the show, enjoying being part of the crowd again and lost in their excitement as she watched them perform for what would be the last time for a while. She sang along to every song, danced with the crowd, screamed when they screamed, and enjoyed every moment Manson's eyes would stray to hers, always catching a smirk on his face.

As they were reaching the end of their set, there came a lull in the music, and the singer approached the edge of the stage, looking pointedly at Amanda as he did so. "There's someone special here tonight," he announced to the audience. "Someone who had been with us this tour. Someone who has become like family to us. And someone we have to say goodbye to after tonight." Amanda felt her eyes sting with tears, having managed to suppress the pain up until that point. But with the audience's attention now on her, she could not stop the emotions that painted themselves on her face. She was smiling, but she was heartbroken, and it was very clear.

Manson extended his hand out to her, causing a roar of excitement from the audience. "Miss Brekker," he said over their voices. "You are one crazy fucking woman and I'm glad I had the chance to get to know you. Will you join me on the stage?" She gave him a mortified look that made him chuckle. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna make you fucking sing. I just want you up here with me. Can someone give her a hand?"

At that, the security guards helped her climb the barrier while Manson clasped her hand and tugged her up until she was standing beside him. By the time she was under the spotlight, her tears were plainly visible and he gave he a sad smile. "Aw Christ, come here..." he said, pulling her into a warm hug while gently brushing the wetness from her cheeks. She embraced him tightly, her smile never fading though her tears continued to fall.

"This is a sad day," he said into the microphone as he slowly released her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Amanda has become a very good friend to all of us. We've all been a part of her journey and tomorrow morning she's leaving us to continue her new life that she started over a year ago." He looked her in the eye as she sniffled and gave her a nod. "I know you're going to be just fine. You're one of the toughest, craziest bitches I know. And I'm gonna fucking miss you. We all are."

Amanda was unable to speak, still wiping her tears away in vain, and she felt Manson slide his arm around her waist while signalling the band to start up what would be the closing song. "Sing this one out with me, guys," he called out to the crowd. "Let's give her a good farewell!"

As the opening lines of "Last Day on Earth," rang out, both from Manson, and from the audience who knew the song all too well, Amanda stood with her arm around the singer as he held her close to him, singing out his goodbye to her. She cried through it, but even though she was sad it was all ending, she felt a swell of joy and pride for having been a part of it. The moment playing out before her was unlike anything she could have imagined and it meant everything to her.

When the show ended, she discovered the meet-and-greet had been held before the performance, leaving them free to go as soon as the stage was cleared. Paul and Gil already had a party they were heading to, but Manson took Amanda back to the hotel to have one more night alone with her. They sat on the patio, passing a cigarette back and forth between the two of them, while talking about what the days ahead would bring.

"When we're done in the UK, I could come visit you," he suggested. "I'm sure there's some crazy shit we could pull in Denver. The land of legal pot." She smiled at him and nodded.

"Also the land of occupational drug testing... but you can indulge," she chuckled.

"It's going to be weird without you around," he sighed. "Who else am I going to stay up with all night like this?"

"Well I'm sure Gil gets lonely," she pointed out, earning a look from him. "But I get what you mean. I'm going to miss the chaos."

"Then make your own chaos."

She nodded in agreement, taking another drag from the cigarette to finish it off. "So... are we good?" she asked, lightly prodding the elephant in the room.

"Yeah," he answered. "We're good. But leave my guitarist alone. They're a bitch to replace."

"I can only imagine," she chuckled. "Thanks for not firing him... or kicking his ass."

"The night's still young," he muttered. "However, you should get to bed. It's going to be an early morning and a long flight followed by a move. Tomorrow's gonna suck enough without you being exhausted."

"Stay with me?" she asked him, causing him to pause. "Not for sex," she clarified. "I'd just... like to fall asleep with you one last time."

He rose to his feet, then extended a hand to her with a warm smile. "I can do that," he answered her. After shedding off her jeans, Amanda climbed into the bed in her t-shirt and underwear while Manson slipped in behind her in his boxers. She rolled on her side while he scooted in behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close to his form. Through the night, he never let her go, making her feel safe and warm in his strong embrace.

God she was going to miss him...

She was not sure when exactly either of them had drifted to sleep, but when her alarm went off at 4am, she groaned and reached for her phone, silencing it while pulling up her music player, intending to listen to something quiet to help her wake up. The sound of an acoustic guitar, accompanied with Feist's haunting voice, began to soothe her awake, and behind her she heard a soft grunt as Manson shifted to signal he was up as well. She had a couple hours to shower, pack, grab coffee, and make it to the airport, and even she knew she could get herself ready in less time than she had allowed herself. The early alarm was just an excuse to have more waking time with him.

_"I've been on fire... Made from my thoughts... I thought up my life by... Out then back in..."_

She felt a hand brush her hair aside and a kiss press itself to the back of her neck, making her close her eyes. The arm around her waist moved, resting his hand on her hip, and for a moment he seemed to debate moving it further, but kept it where it was, rubbing at her hipbone with the pad of his thumb.

She could feel something prodding at the small of her back, and as if reading her mind, he shifted his hips away from her to avoid letting it brush against her. Twisting her head around just enough to face him, she murmured, "It's okay."

He watched her with half lidded, tired eyes, then moved closer to her again, pressing himself fully against her while drawing her in for a kiss. She tried to roll over to fully face him, but his other arm slipped underneath the crook of her neck and wrapped itself over her shoulders while the hand on her hip migrated lower.

"Please..." she whispered before he could touch her further, causing him to look up at her once again in mild concern. "Gentle. I can't handle rough right now."

He made a sound resembling something of a purr, and his lips began to trail warm kisses along her neck while his hand resumed its descent, slipping into the waistband of her panties. His ministrations were slow and precise, sending slow, lulling waves of pleasure through her body. The arm over her shoulders held her securely against him, and his head rest against hers, occasionally dipping down to kiss her shoulder. As he slowly brought her to a state of moaning and writhing, her hand gripped at his upper arm while the other reached behind to clutch at his thigh. Her movements rendered him throbbing against her, but he never became aggressive, enjoying the slow drawn out nature of the moment.

When he felt her begin to twist against him, trying to turn over, he pulled his hand out of her panties and let her roll into him, ready to meet her with another tender kiss. She worked her way out of her underwear before rolling onto her back to let him climb over her, and feeling no need to completely strip in a flurry of passion like they had before, he simply moved his boxers out of the way enough to free himself. Her hands went into his hair, her kisses growing more hungry, and his hands guided her legs to wrap around him, wanting nothing more than to be tangled up in her. As he slowly pushed through her entrance, he gasped with her in the wake of pleasure, then began a slow and deep rhythm.

_"Baby... be simple... Baby, please be simple... Be simple... Be simple with me..."_

He lay with her, kissing her long after they had finished, their bodies sweaty and weak from pleasure. He knew their time was running out, but there was somehow enough time for him to justify just one more kiss. One more embrace. Just one more.

When there was no choice but to finally get up, he dressed himself in his clothes from the previous night just so he could stay in her room with her while she finished getting ready. The drive to the airport was a silent one, the two of them sitting in the back together, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her.

"I'll make sure you get through security," he said softly as they pulled into the parking lot. He slung her backpack over his shoulder before she could take it, and the two of them crossed the lot while a flurry of photographers were there to capture their final moments together. A few reporters barked out questions for the two of them, but they ignored them, marching forward through the entrance until security staff were finally able to form a blockade and allow the pair a chance for a proper goodbye.

"You got your boarding pass?" he asked, pulling out a bin to set her backpack inside before placing it on the conveyor belt.

"I got everything," she answered, her voice already breaking as she looked up to him with teary eyes. He was wearing his sunglasses, making it impossible for her to see his eyes but she was used to that.

"Wallet? Phone?" he asked, Amanda noticing a waver in his voice as he spoke.

"Everything but the kitchen sink," she replied with a smirk, reaching up to wipe the tears that were already escaping.

"Knew we forgot something," he chuckled softly. They stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, then he cleared his throat. "So... guess this is it."

"Yeah," her voice broke. Opening her arms first, she pulled him into a tight embrace, crying softly as his hand cradled her head against him. When he finally released her, she tilted her head up to kiss his cheek, her heart clenching when she felt the wetness there. "Come visit me anytime in Denver," she whispered. "You're always welcome at my place."

He smiled softly and pushed her back just far enough so he could kiss her forehead. With a hard sniff, he stepped back and quickly brushed his cheeks dry, his voice hoarse when he spoke again. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will. You do the same." She wanted to kiss him fully, but knew there was more than likely a photographer honed in on them at that very moment. "Say goodbye to the guys for me."

"Will do." She let out a sigh, then began to walk past him towards the security line.

"Oh!" she said suddenly with a stop, turning to face him. "Almost forgot something." She reached in her pocket, pulling something out, then took his hand so she could place it in his palm. He looked down, his brow furrowing as noticed he held a small Thomas the Tank Engine figurine in his hand. "Lifted that from a gift shop," Amanda explained with a mischievous smirk. "Stuffed it in my pocket and walked out without paying for it."

He snorted, laughing as he finally got it. "Train heist," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Cheater."

"It counts," she giggled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this and for everyone who has left kudos and comments. This was a fun ride and I enjoyed every minute of writing it. I've already got a sequel in mind so stay tuned.


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